Shieldmaiden
by Star-Of-Radiance
Summary: Most of her family is slain and facing the Doom of Mandos- the rest are in Valinor. She is one of the few left with the blood of Fëanor in her veins- the blood of a Kinslayer. In order to redeem her kin and earn a place for her and her remaining blood in Middle-Earth, Estela must fight to save countless peoples. (Includes flashbacks from Silmarillion)
1. Chapter One

Chapter One

The elf-maiden stared out at the horizon.

It was over. After so many centuries it was over. Now they could rebuild.

But she wondered what world would accept her-Middle-Earth or the Lands of the Undying? She knew whose blood she carried.

Elves as a rule were not given to the prejudices of mankind- but even so… she feared their hatred and rejection. After all so many innocents died- was it right that she- a daughter and granddaughter of so-called "kinslayers" would get to live? Was it fair?

They would always hold her in suspicion. And her family… They were either in the bliss of Valinor or in the Halls of Mandos- suffering doom. Her heart wrenched and shattered.

They were gone. For all the talk that elves lived as long as there is an Arda they were now gone, lost to her. And although she might not have stained her hands in the blood of her own kind she had little doubt that she would be welcome back to Valinor. So weighed down by guilt was she that she would have never returned to the life of bliss and joy that she once had and should have lived if her family had made other decisions. Even if it was possible to live without the grief of eternal loss.

The name of her kin would forever darken the histories of the elves. She knew that to be true. They were all cursed- doomed. The blood in her veins was cursed. They would forever call her cursed and say that despite all the accomplishments that no good would ever come of one of hers.

Not unless she tried to redeem herself and her remaining kin. There might be nothing she could do to her lost ones, but there was the future to salvage. She would end the curse for their sakes and most importantly make right the wrongs that were so heavily placed- or try to. If it could not be achieved she could at least forge a new path for them all. Prove not only to the world but to themselves they were different and possessed the ability to do good in the world. _For did I ask to be born with this blood in my veins? _

She nodded to the others and silently they placed their helms on their heads and readied themselves to leave.

* * *

_Centuries Later…_

Gil-Galad surveyed the damage- undoubtedly most of it was in flames, much was lost except for in lives. None of the townspeople were dead and few if any, were injured. This baffled him.

_Could it be because whoever these people were- they were simply trying to make a statement of some kind- show their strength? _He thought to himself. Some of them looked dazed, astonished and so much more. And it wasn't just because they had just met the High Elven King. They did not look that traumatised even though they had just lost a great deal of their earthly possessions.

He turned to one of his most trusted lieutenants- "What has happened here?" he asked.

The soldier frowned, his brow furrowing. "They said it was orcs, my lord."

"_Orcs_?" Now Gil-Galad was even more baffled than he had been before. "Since when did orcs leave a human or dwarf settlement without taking even one life?"

It wasn't the orcs that spared them, my liege," a rider came into view. He halted his horse and looked at the High King straight in the eyes. "It was the elves that saved them?" The High King was still confused.

"Elves?" he exclaimed incredulously. "Were they Sindarin- Silvan?" "Not that we know of," another soldier had just arrived. "I was treating a few of the townspeople and they said that the elves that came to their rescue killed of all the orcs then sent a message making sure we would come. They had already treated a few that were critically injured and when they heard that we were coming they left. They did not even answer the people's questions on their identity. The people said that they were led by the most beautiful and fair copper-haired _elleth._" He sighed and rolled his eyes. "They described the elves armour. They had no standards, no banner. But I think they were of the Noldor."

"We did not send any aid before ever got here or even reinforcements afterwards!" Another exclaimed. The first _ellon _shrugged. "Apparently that is what they told me and that is what we deduced from the descriptions of their armour and weaponry." The group exchanged befuddled looks. Once during the War of the Jewels or the War of Wrath as it was known, there had been many Noldorin kingdoms and settlements. But these were believed to have been destroyed and the inhabitants had either all left for the Undying Lands back to Valinor or they had been slain in defence- or else scattered when there was no one to lead them. As for the maiden…

"A shieldmaiden?" he wondered aloud. There were such things as shieldmaidens but as most females of any race preferred other practices. They were very rare- that is if their societies would permit it. Elves did- but other races- such as the dwarves- had very few females and dwarrowdams were fiercely guarded as if they were treasure themselves. Other races such as men believed their women either to be treasures like the dwarves and treated with utter delicacy or else they believed that women were weaker and less intelligent and their place was in the home. No one even knew if there were any orc females but how else did they reproduce?

Gil-Galad turned to his elves. "Send out the supplies." He said. "Stay with them- help them rebuild." It would not take _them _to long. "Hopefully the ashes would serve to nourish the soil of the farms. They would be able to grow again." They nodded and respectfully murmured their agreements. Gil-Galad left back for Lindon- he needed to ponder this.

This wasn't the first report of an outrageously beautiful copper-haired shieldmaiden he had received. He doubted it would be the last. Shieldmaidens were rare, but _copper-haired_ ones- well how many elves claimed to have such hair?

Hair for the elves mostly came in shades of spun gold, woven silver and polished jet. In Aman, yes, there were those with shades of burnished copper- well, he knew only a handful.

Gil-Galad remembered all too clearly. He remembered Nerdanel the Wise who had inherited that shade from her father. Three of her sons possessed that colouring. The two youngest, the twins and Maitimo.

Nelyafinwë Maitimo Fëanorion, called by his close kin Russandol, and by the Sindar: Maedhros the Tall, had been his father's closest friend. He still remembered watching them spar- he had never seen anything so elegant and graceful, so masterful and _precise. _That awed him above all else- the elegance, grace, subtlety of it- and the precision. Nothing like overdramatic showing-off he'd seen in tournaments and other competitions, nothing like the over-fancy dancing of the lords and ladies of any court, it was a mastery of perfection in combat. Posture, movements,_ everything. _He had never seen anything like it and doubted he ever would again.

Nelyafinwë Maitimo Fëanorion had been one of the few warriors of any race that had died undefeated. Gil-Galad did not think that anyone could have fought the way he did- his sword was like, but even swifter and deadlier than lightning. All one saw was a flash of light and not one, not two, either five or six orcs were dead- or so his father always said. He had practiced numerous times to be like him- even the loss of his right hand only served to make Maedhros more deadly to his foes.

Gil-Galad forced his thoughts back to the shieldmaiden. He was only remembering Maedhros simply because the maiden had the colour of his hair and, according to eyewitness accounts, his style of fighting- although they made it sound feminine too. But…

Then suddenly it was as if he had been struck in the face. _No, it cannot be…_ he thought. A rush of excitement and wariness flooded through him. _Nelyafinwiel. _

It couldn't be. Surely it wasn't possible, but it _was. _

Maitimo had a daughter.

Vividly he remembered the girl, she had been an elfling the last time he saw her, roughly the same age he was. He remembered hiding behind bushes, spying on her just to see her dance in the garden, but somehow, never being brave enough to even meet her face to face, despite being distant kin.

_What was her name?_ He couldn't remember.

Of course he could be wrong, which was why he could not voice this out to anyone just yet- if ever.

No, if this really was the same elfling that grew into a maiden, it was best if he kept her identity a secret. After all, elves might not hold prejudiced beliefs that a child is equally responsible for the sins of their parents and grandparents, but all the same... it was dangerous ground they were treading if anyone so much as suspected that a Fëanorian still lived.

Unease delved into him, but before he could dwell any further another elf arrived and came up to him. He recognized him as Galdor, an aide of Lord Círdan the Shipwright. He nodded respectfully.

"My Lord Ereinion," Galdor murmured. Gil-Galad inclined his head. "Galdor of the Havens. Is something the matter?"

"It is about the shieldmaiden, my King." Galdor answered, bringing his horse closer. Galdor had never been comfortable with horses, Gil-Galad remembered. This was a shipwright's aide and apprentice, who preferred to either walk on land or sail on open water. But Galdor seemed to be hiding any discomfort very well, or else it was something that distracted him.

The silver-haired elf looked at Gil-Galad. "There have been reports of mercenary pirates- corsairs from the lands in the east raiding shores close to Dúnedain and Northmen territories, looting and pillaging, sacking whole settlements and enslaving the inhabitants. They say that they are now allied with the King's Men."

Gil-Galad gritted his teeth. The King's Men were men of Númenor, who were questioning their ancestors' decision to remain mortal, albeit with a much longer life. They had begun to become so hateful, especially to elves- and for someone who had personally overseen to the bringing of plant-life, literature, building materials, cloth, food and drink, not to mention architects, scholars, tutors and people of many crafts and talents, to nurture the land of Númenor, teach them and make them into a civilisation that all other humans envied, and held in more awe than imagined, yet still they expelled or made outcasts of elves that have helped them all their lives, and looked down upon their fellow man. They also severed all ties with the elven kingdoms by trade and by diplomacy and quite frankly they were becoming increasingly insulting.

He turned his gaze to Galdor who winced seeing the look inside those piercing eyes.

Gil-Galad knew they were being insufferable, but he had no idea they were now becoming a serious threat. This was a bigger betrayal and danger than he had previously imagined, but wait-

"Did you say this has something about the shieldmaiden?" he asked baffled.

"They attacked several villages and towns, then this mystery shieldmaiden arrived and beat them back. She and her followers rescued as many as they could. They rebuilt, equipped and taught some forms of defence, supplied and treated as many as they could and delivered prisoners to our court in Lindon. Then, they left."

Gil-Galad stared at the Haven elf and sighed. "That's yet another report on the doings of this mysterious _elleth_. So what do we have here?"

Gil-Galad managed a wry smile. "We have our former allies turning against us because they are jealous of our immortality, knowledge, power and so forth, and stamping out anyone amongst their numbers who so happen to disagree. We have them allying or enslaving other humans and attacking our friends and allies. And then we have a mysterious and apparently exceptionally beautiful shieldmaiden appearing out of nowhere and without her and those that follow her, we would have suffered twice the damage if not more. Yet we cannot even find her and thank her. Nor can we make an alliance."

Lindon's court was just baffled with everything as Gil-Galad was. The High King groaned as he ascended the dais to his throne.

"Who is here to speak?" he asked.

"My Lord King may I present, Calassion of Eriador." Elrond formally announced.

The High King beckoned his head and the silver-haired elf stepped forwards and bowed.

"Pray speak," the High King said. "What is it that requires you to travel all this way from Eriador?"

The elf took a deep breath. "My King, the King's Men of Númenor have settled in Umbar." At this Gil-Galad sat straighter. "They have control of the local population, and have enslaved them or else placed them under submission. It is to our knowledge that they are building up in strength." Gil-Galad's fists clenched his throne tighter.

"Strength, you say," he asked in a dangerously quiet voice. "Please, be more specific."

Calassion took a deep breath. "Ships, my Lord King. They are building more ships of great speed and manoeuvrability, yet strong enough to take on full assaults. They are also stocking up in arms and forcing more and more of the inhabitants to farm to feed them, increasing their supplies."

Everyone was silent.

"So you believe they mean war?" the king asked in a deadly-quiet voice. "How do you know of this?"

"I have seen them." And the elf looked up straight into Gil-Galad's sapphire eyes. "I… took a foolhardy trip to the coasts and I saw…" he winced.

Elrond came to his rescue. "My King I can safely vouch for this person's word on the matter-"

"How intriguing." A voice drawled. Gil-Galad supressed a groan and turned to the direction of one of his (least favourite) counsellors. Artaner sneered.

"My Lord Artraner," Gil-Galad barely managed to control his annoyance. "Have you something to say? If so, please say it."

"How can we know for certain that this _ellon _is not mistaken? How can we be sure- I mean the King's Men can hardly be called pleasant, but to accuse them of preparing for war- that is _almost _a declaration itself, of one, on our part, which, _could _be a reasonable excuse for war."

_Shut up,_ Gil-Galad was tempted to say.

"So what is it that you are suggesting?" the king said barely managing to keep his temper under control.

"I suggest nothing," Artaner said smoothly, to which Gil-Galad had to bite back a retort. "I only ask, how can he know _for certain._"

In answer the _ellon_ pulled out something. Gil-Galad leaned forwards and saw a scrap of bloody cloth with an emblem…

It hit him even before he even saw the design. It was the banner of war for the King's Men. And it was stained already in blood.

"A bold declaration indeed," Elrond said firmly.

"This was displayed on their ships," the man said. "They were making more, and the captains were ordering them to be put up… the maiden asked me to give you this."

Gil-Galad frowned. "What maiden?"

Calassion took a deep breath. "A shieldmaiden- an impossibly beautiful one- with copper hair."

At once there was an outburst of noise.

Everyone started talking excitedly on this new development. Gil-Galad stood frozen for a few seconds before shouting for silence.

"Are you perhaps referring to," Gil-Galad said slowly. "The shieldmaiden who rescued, well, everyone?"

Calassion looked him in the eye and nodded. "Yes, my King."

"Unbelievable!" Artaner exclaimed. "This shieldmaiden again! My King, how can we be certain, this maiden-"

But he didn't get to finish his sentence. Gil-Galad cut him off. "We can _never _be certain of anything, Artaner," he said. "But we can at least look at the facts. Has this _elleth _ever, done anything to merit our slightest disapproval?"

"No, but-"

"Has this shieldmaiden enslaved, robbed or treated anyone harshly save our enemies?"

"No, but-"

"Has this maiden been stupid, reckless, or remotely unsuccessful in her attempts to save others- of which, I doubt, anyone can fully count?"

"My King!" Artaner protested. "I do not say she is inefficient, nor do I say that she is cruel, we just do not know who she is, where her allegiance lies and surely we cannot trust _anyone _straight away without even knowing them? After all this could be a plot to gain our trust and affection but in reality, to betray us when we least expect it-"

Gil-Galad raised an eyebrow. "Are you so afraid of betrayal then? You forget those ruling in Númenor were once our utmost friends and allies. If you want to see a threat, turn to their direction. We have every reason to feel threatened by them." He pointed to the banner.

"My King this could be a forgery!" Artaner protested.

"Or maybe someone does not wish to see that there is war in the horizon," Elrond said. "And although I can understand that. I am also a healer and I have examined the blood on the banner, and we have examined the banner itself- myself and a few others. It is of the King's Men, and the blood is that of an elf's."

There was a sharp breath drawn and everyone looked at each other in dismay.

"Murder!" someone hissed.

"War!" shouted another. "This is a declaration of war!"

"It most certainly is," Gil-Galad said in a smooth tone which was even more dangerous than before. "They are most certainly planning war, are they stupid enough, however to declare it? Did they leave out this banner on purpose? Do they know that we are seeing this, at this very moment- a banner of war stained with the blood of one of ours?"

Calassion took a deep breath. "I believe so, my King."

"Then," the High King said. "It is war."

Unlike before, there was no murmuring, no whispering, no shouting. There was only a shocked, stilled silence as Ereinion Gil-Galad, High King of the Eldar upon Middle-Earth stood up, descended from his throne and strode out of the room.


	2. Chapter Two

_**Honest-to-goodness, I am getting rather sick of merely calling the king Gil-Galad all the time- I mean, people close to him called him Ereinion, so why not that as well? Also, I did note that in the Hidden Princess, Vanimelda said she didn't even know if her father truly was the son of Fingon or the son of Orodreth but was merely raised to succeed Fingon. I think this is a way of trying to make sense of the confusion in Tolkien's writings, and I admit, I'm not so sure either- I mean, Gil-Galad, strong, noble and so forth, sounds more like Fingon's son than Orodreth's- who was weak, but he could have just been fostered by Fingon. **_

Chapter Two

Ereinion looked upset.

Elrond winced. If this really was war, then this meant that they really were in trouble, weren't they?

Many people were under the impression if any other kingdom attacks and elven one, they would always be defeated. And in a way it was true, but it was far too risky to relax and be overconfident.

Ereinion looked up from the maps he was studying with a frown. Elrond saw him nod to another councillor and another map was brought out. Elrond didn't even look at its contents, and he had the feeling the king wasn't really seeing it either. He was too distracted.

Elrond knew full well what was at risk. Ar-Gimilzôr, twenty-third King of Númenor was gaining strength. Elves have been persecuted and forced to flee, elf-friends have suffered far worse, more and more of the _Elendili_ had gone into exile. The tongues of elves, both Quenya and Sindarin, were forbidden, any who spoke, read or wrote in it, were put to death- any books in those tongues were burned. The White Tree, they said now, was beginning to wither and growing worse by the day. He no longer made pilgrimages, and sometimes openly blasphemed, encouraging his subjects to do the same. Elrond sighed and inwardly winced. Ar-Gimilzôr was his blood. He was Elros' descendant. What was he to do? How could it anyone still treat him well instead of staring accusingly at him, telling him firmly to remind the king of their shared blood?

"So they have settled in a land they now call Umbar," the High King said. "They have built ships and are stockpiling weapons, training men and so forth. Not to mention enslaving the locals and forcing them to grow food. But I want to know the extent of their doings- their numbers, their fortifications- they settled in Umbar for a _reason. _Númenóreans are mariners- and that is their strength. Umbar is a sea-port it is an excellent location for trade because of its easy access. It's also a good location to sail to any of our lands- for better or for worse. I, for one, do not believe they are interested in _trade._" He glared at each of his councillors, as if daring them to be stupid enough to believe it. Yet even Artaner, was not that stupid.

"They are building a fortress of some kind," Gil-Galad continued as if he had not stopped. "A fortification would greatly increase their defences. However, we do not know the full extent of their doings." He rolled the map shut. "We are able to examine the surroundings of Umbar, and we have all studied Númenor, but that, as we all know is not enough. We need to know what kind of weapons, what they are planning, their numbers, what they are building, how they are building and crafting them, how they are training and gathering their recruits, and most of all, _exactly _what they are planning."

He sighed. "We need more- information first, then allies. And then, who knows, what else we need? Yet we cannot know for sure!" He slammed his hand down on the remaining maps.

"My King," Elrond said smoothly. "Perhaps we could send out spies? Contact the _Elendili_ and any Northmen who are suffering under the banner of the King's Men, in secret? Glean as much information from them as we can?"

Ereinion shook his head. "Lord Elrond, we cannot ask any more than we already have of the _Elendili_\- our remaining friends. And furthermore, they are in more than enough danger as it is. As for the Northmen, I do not mean to question their honour and suffering, but how can we be sure of their trust? If the King's Men suspect that we are also making preparations, they are likely to speed up any idea of an assault on our peoples, sooner, rather than later." He shook his head. "We must be even more careful with this than anyone thinks. One wrong move is more dangerous than swinging a sword in the opposite direction rather than at an opposing orc."

"What about this shieldmaiden?" Someone asked. "She has proven herself, and as an elf, she has no reason to be loved by the King's Men. What about her?"

Elrond snorted. "Can we even find her to make an alliance? Astaro, we cannot find her anywhere and she has given no indication she wishes to even talk with us."

"But she helped us," Astaro argued. "And she gave the banner to Calassion and rescued him, telling him to show it to us-"

"Which is an entirely different thing to wanting to form an alliance with us," Elrond interrupted. "And furthermore, as we can all attest to, she has purposely avoided even bumping into us. We may have to turn to the Wood-Elves."

Everyone looked at one another, not knowing what to say. It was a common saying amongst humans that the Wood-Elves were less wise and more dangerous than their kin. Who knew what they wanted- and if they would even show up for any meeting set. This filled them all with unease. Most of the members of that particular company were Noldor, and Telerin- a few were even Vanyarin (but those could be counted as less than the fingers of one hand), and although some shared blood with the Wood-Elves- Elrond included- relations have always been complicated. During the War of Wrath, it was at its worst.

Who knew what to do?

After the meeting Elrond walked to his chambers through an empty corridor. He paused, and turned slowly around to see if there was anyone following him. When his sharp eyes saw nothing and he heard nothing, he continued walking in a slightly faster pace.

He arrived in his quarters and locked the doors. He went to his bedroom and again sealed the door- this time with magic. Then he went to his bedside drawer and removed a mirror.

It seemed at first glance, nothing more than an ornamental mirror. Inlaid with coral, mother-of-pearl and the most dainty and exquisite shells around sea-glass, pearls and coral were set in the handle and engraved into perfect figures- dolphins. Elrond stared hard into the glass and chanting some words in Quenya, the glass began to mist, whereas before it had been polished into a bright shine. It clouded further, and then cleared to reveal a face Elrond knew all too well.

An impossibly beautiful face, even for an elf's, with finely chiselled, delicate features: a dainty delicately upturned nose, fine smooth high cheekbones and ruby rosebud lips. The eyes were emerald and the thick, soft, curling hair was burnished copper.

Hair just like her father's.

Elrond smiled gently. "Estela."

"Elrond," she said in an amazingly musical voice. " Is something amiss?"

"Should it be?" Elrond asked. "It is very good to see you, even if it is not in person."

Estela's luminous emerald eyes blinked and she smiled. "Come now Elrond, I know you better than that. Something's happened. How did the King take the news?"

Elrond rolled his eyes but then grew serious. "Gil-Galad knows now that they are a threat, but he does not know to what extent. Nor does he. There was talk of spies, but to ask the Northmen and the _Elendili _to risk their lives more than they already have, especially as they are being put to death in terrible ways, is too much. As for sending elves in- well, that is more perilous as they are not stupid, and they know there are more differences between an elf and a human than pointed ears."

Estela looked grim. "And I presume they were talking about me?"

"Of course," Elrond groaned. "And as you wished, I gave nothing away."

"Good." Estela responded. "Because most I suspect, would rather face death than be rescued by a Fëanorian."

"You don't know that," Elrond said sharply.

"No," she replied. "You're right, I don't. But I also know that they will be assessing me and my kin, watching us to see, suspecting we may turn out like our fathers. We would live under suspicion and for all the talk that there are no prejudices amongst the Eldar, we would never be fully welcome. We have to redeem ourselves, by doing what is right. I know it's been centuries, but so was the War of Wrath."

Elrond looked firm. "Your father and uncle rescued us- my brother and I- and raised us. We have never forgotten that, not even Elros, on his dying day."

"Yet the whole world did not see such a thing," Estela interrupted. "Only you."

Elrond was silent. He didn't know what to say, for once.

"They did not see my grandfather on Aman before Morgoth came to him that day," she continued. "They did not see my father arrive late in Doriath, searching for Eluréd and Elurín, they did not know any of them at all. They only ever recorded what they built and made, and all their doings and kinslayings. Nothing else."

"The world knows that your father raised me and Elros and searched for my mother's brothers." Elrond argued.

"Even you can't deny that when those deeds are recorded, they are made pale in comparison, and barely noted next to the kinslayings. I do not care to live under shadow, Elrond. I want to help, to save, to do what is right. But if they know whose daughter and granddaughter I am, they would question my motives and those who follow me."

Elrond was silent.

"Gil-Galad wants to find out the extent of the doings of the King's Men. Very well, he shall. But he is never to know it is from me, or my kin." Then seeing Elrond's inner struggle quite clearly, she lowered her voice and gently added, "I know it is difficult, and I very well know that you see Gil-Galad as you once saw my father and uncle, but it is for him as well. No matter how compassionate and reasonable he is, no matter how just, he can never be seen to accept help from a Fëanorian- that would create far too much discord and they would question his authority and his reasoning as a leader. And no one can afford that."

"And how will you even find out what is going on in Númenor and in Umbar?" Elrond asked, eyebrow raised.

Estela's almond eyes, slanted and wide, framed with thick black lashes, held a fierce light in them. "I have my ways. Leave it to me."


	3. Chapter Three

_**I did say that I would include flashbacks from the Silmarillion. And be warned, sometimes there are things that other elves won't even know about Fëanor and his family- things that never made it to the written word- Estela would know she had seen it first-hand, but as she was very young, she was easily overlooked then. Also, unlike many others, she still prefers to use the Quenya names for those she knew. Furthermore Fëanor's two half-sisters were left out of the published Silmarillion- their names were Findis and Irien Lalwendë.**_

Chapter Three

Estela closed the connection to Elrond from her mirror and sighed. She turned and left her rooms to go to the meeting room, where they held conferences and planned where next to go and what to do.

Tulcano, her favourite cousin stood there reading maps and old scrolls. She smiled.

This was a settlement, built and hidden from the eyes of just about anyone who was not invited or living there- a hidden city.

Outside on the ground level, there was a courtyard, with a forge. Telperinquar, another cousin was hammering away.

Estela left for the library.

One of the things about being the grandchildren of Fëanáro was that they were taught by the best, in well, everything- save for pride- that she had to learn to temper herself. So naturally, not only was the library stocked, but it was beautifully designed and made to take one's breath away.

Tree-like tendrils branched outwards to hold shelves in place, with sculptures of ents and ent-wives marking places and holding out their arms to extend to branches. The floor was green, and the ceiling was domed and painted with Varda, her Maiar and the stars they scattered throughout the sky. The walls were made up of mosaics of the sea, the harbour-city of Alqualondë where her mother had been born. There was also Tirion upon Túna where her father had been born, and where she was as well, and Valmar of the Bells, although due to her express wish, the hill of Ezellohar and the Two Trees were left out along with Formenos. Some things were just too painful, even with paintings and sculptures of the Valar and Maiar.

Estela felt at home here. For some reason, although she could not return, she could not consider Middle-Earth her home. No, she had seen far too much misery here.

_My life is made up of misery, _Estela thought. _It was only ever in Valinor, but I left didn't I? When did it all start?_

She knew perfectly when.

It was a day of festival in Tirion upon Túna. The Day had been bright, as it always was upon Valinor, and now the horses' hooves had thundered ahead of us. How she longed to ride! The restlessness of a child, the eager desire to be free and gallop over horizons with her father. Yet this day was a day of Festival, and now, to save the fine garments in which her mother had forced upon her, Estela rode in the carriage beside her.

Her mother was a princess of the Teleri by birth, Olwë's granddaughter. Her beauty truly was unparalleled. Estela's own features combined those of her father, grandfather and foremother Míriel with her own. Her delicate, small hands had folded neatly upon her lap, and her silver hair, had cascaded that day, as if it were Ulmo's most magnificent waterfall, waving gently, yet capturing Laurelin's light, making it appear brighter than ever imagined. Her face was more delicate and more beautiful and perfect than those of our kind normally were, and between long lashes her eyes were violet, a purple, more brighter and richer in colour and piercing than any gem. She was at peace, whereas Estela was eager to ride, fighting such fire in my spirit, the fire she had inherited from her father's father.

"Peace, Little One,' she murmured, her voice a high crystal-sweet music. We shall be there soon enough, and you shall dance for the greatest part of this night, until it is time for you to retire. However, all of the Noldor shall be there and many eyes shall be upon you, so I must ask that you restrain yourself from joining the antics of the cousins and uncles you so love, and to restrain them if you can." Her voice was gentle, but firm.

As they passed into the walls of Tirion, the great city of the Noldor upon Valinor, people, dressed in their finest garments turned and cheered, chanting loudly Estela's father's name, and her mother's. The hooves of the horses thudded on the marble stones and swished through the sands of diamond-dust. Estela gazed out towards the houses and towers of great beauty, built of marble and placed amidst courtyards and gardens of the fairest beauty. The domes and roofs of towers and houses were built of pure gold and silver, and many of the buildings were inlaid with gems or had flowers, spilling from walls and rooftops, growing beneath windows, and lining crystal steps. The horses came to a halt and now she heard her father dismount and our people roar with the greatest joy. A second roar ensued when mother and daughter emerged from the carriage to join my father. Most splendid and in all ways, magnificent and majestic, his red hair spilled from his head and was bound by a circlet of mithril. Her mother wore a similar, yet more delicate circlet studded with adamants, as did Estela, although she would have preferred her hair loose. Her wild curls had been tamed this day and she was gowned in the finest silks and lace, which weighed too heavy for her to run, but strangely, not to spin and dance. Her mother's foresight.

Together, the mounted the crystal stairs. Laurelin's light had bathed all of Tirion in a warm glow and the stairs beneath looked as if it were made of many colours of light, and nothing solid beneath. Little Estela was carried, by her father, and much as she loved him, the little girl would have preferred very much if she could walk. Still, out of love for her father, Estela had allowed herself to be carried up the stairs and was only set down when they reached the gold doors of her forefather's palace.

The doors swung open, and a herald announced them, they then entered a great hall with pillars of gold trees and ceiling covered with jewels of many colours. Finwë the king stood clapping enthusiastically as his eldest grandson emerged with his wife and child. He appeared delighted to see the little girl and so was Indis, his wife, gowned in blue. Estela had learned due to the listening she had done as a child, that Indis was not her grandfather's mother, but Finwë's second wife. She was every bit as beautiful as Míriel but in a very different way. Gold-haired, whereas Míriel was silver-haired, she was as tall, but she was soft-spoken and sweet, whereas Míriel Serindë was strong-minded and spirited. Estela learned due once again to all the listening she had done, that her grandfather did not hold Indis in high regard, neither did he hold Ñolofinwë although he tolerated Arafinwë, Findis and Irien Lalwendë his other half-siblings at the worst of times and was amiable to them at best. But they did try desperately to please him.

Nerdanel came rushing over to embrace the three of them as did Fëanáro who was laughing joyfully. Her six uncles and their spouses (if they had any) and children came over too and Estela must have been hugged and kissed countless times before Findekáno her father's cousin and closest friend came over as well to clap him on the back. Then Indis had lifted her and cuddled her. Estela saw her grandfather's face tighten as if he wished to snatch her away, but it thankfully vanished as soon as it came.

Estela was handed back to her father as everyone admired both her parents. Her mother's hair was molten silver shining and capturing any light, and her skin glowed brighter than a star. Her face held more beauty and perfection than any elf, and her eyes were unmatched, in colour, richness and radiance. Everyone sighed and little Estela knew that many people lamented that Fëanáro was the one to marry her.

It was the same for her father and numerous maidens besides. After Finwë crushed her in a glorious embrace, she was finally set down. Her two youngest uncles Nityafinwë and Telufinwë grinned at her, crooked smiles and copper hair like her own. Itarillë, Ñolofinwë's granddaughter smiled sweetly at her. And after the court had welcomed them they were ushered into a great hall made of fine glass. Estela pleaded to go with Itarillë, after which the two happy girls ran weaving through the crowds and passing gold tables and the gilded blossoms decorating the walls. But Estela suddenly stopped.

A discussion was being made. And not of good will.

Quenya names:

Fëanáro- Fëanor Itarillë- Idril

Ñolofinwë- Fingolfin

Arafinwë- Finarfin

Findekáno- Fingon

Nityafinwë- Amrod

Telufinwë- Amras


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

The subject was her grandfather Fëanáro.

The Elves that discussed such things were unknown to Estela. One had golden hair, yet silvery with the sheen of stars, much like the Sindar, whom she would later meet. One was dark as most of the Noldor were, indicating her birth. They were ladies of Finwë's court, yet, she had never met them. She had little contact with such members as she did not live within Finwë's palace, and saw him only at family gatherings, where members of the family were informal and at peace, or else at occasions such as this one.

The Fair One spoke first: "What of Míriel Serindë? How did she come to pass?"

The Dark One said: "I know what they say. I have heard everything. But I was there when the Queen Míriel, presented her son to her husband, the King. Finwë wept that day, tears of joy, and, within minutes of speaking to the Queen, was even more jubilant. He announced to all that the High Prince was to be called Curufinwë- the Skilled Son of Finwë as his father-name and his mother had called him Fëanáro- meaning the Spirit of Fire. Yet when no one was present, save the King, the Queen Miriel, and myself a lady-in-waiting, she spoke of how, after such labours, that never again would the strength to conceive and bear a child rest upon her, for such strength that would have nourished and brought forth so many more, had gone onto her one treasured, most beloved son. Our King had despaired at such words." She took a swig out of her goblet.

The Fair One asked. "Really? Was having one child so hard that it compelled her to give up all the joys and pleasures of life?" she sounded incredulous. For all the Eldar believed that when one had children, it was the happiest days of their lives.

"When I saw her," the Dark One continued as if she were not interrupted, imbibing more wine, "all fire had seemed to have drained out of her fëa - her soul- and the strength of her body. She would never, and I knew this to be true- be the same. For even though she loved her son and her husband the Queen Míriel left for the gardens of Lórien and at their parting, the King, believing it to be brief, despaired and called out to her, saying that their son would soon speak and walk upon the green hill of Túna- shouldn't his mother be there and miss nothing on his life? But the Queen Míriel said although she would have wanted nothing more to be with her son, her body and soul were so weary, she couldn't even weep! And yes, I believe she was so weary she couldn't even move an arm herself, drained as she was. All her strength had drained away- all to the son she bore. Yet she had pleaded that neither her husband, nor her son, should he come to realise such things, blame her for this, nor for anything that may yet come to pass."

"What will come to pass that she would be blamed and not thanked?" the fair one asked even more incredulously. "Look at everything her son has done!" She wasn't exaggerating. Fëanáro not only made the three Silmarils- the three most prized, most beautiful of all gems, and the _palantiri-_the Great Seeing Stones, he also improved the basic Sarati, turning it into the outstanding Tengwar, and created the Fëanorian lamps- that could go without needing fuel or burning out- it didn't even need fire. He also made numerous other things and rebuilt and redesigned many cities- Alqualondë, Tirion and Valimar included.

"True, that this, my friend, shall make a mother tremble with the greatest pride." said the dark one, "But what of his treatment of the Queen Indis and her sons?"

"What of them?" the fair one asked. "He has treated them with all the greatest of courtesy and respect I have noticed, as befitting, not only the Queen and High Princes, but also his father's wife and his brothers."

"In such public notice." the dark one stated. "Yet, although I know he bears little animosity towards Prince Arafinwë, and none towards Princesses Findis and Irien Lalwendë, as they stay firmly out of his capricious moods, always, does the presence of his stepmother and High Prince Ñolofinwë, prick, not like a thorn within his side, but as a knife, with wounds too close to the heart, no matter how they have tried to please him."

She knew the reason why, even at such a young age. The Valar, pitying Finwë in his grief, promised him, when his wife refused to return, he would know the joy of not only marriage again, but also new offspring. So not long after Finwë married Indis, niece of Ingwë High King of the Elves and King of the Vanyar, and had children with her.

"Why didn't she return the Queen Míriel?" asked the Fair One. "Why wasn't she remade?"

"Míriel our queen was taken to the Gardens of Lorien, whereupon, after laying her weary body upon the soft grass, she had fallen into a deep sleep, and in weariness, her spirit had departed towards the Halls of Mandos. When Finwë, our king begged the Lord Námo to return her to life, Míriel, our queen, had answered through him that she desired peace and demanded that Finwë leave her in peace! And thus, did the Valar decide that their union be dissolved. But why? For those that return bear not the weariness of their old forms. Míriel, the queen would have been given strength anew, to rear the son she bore, yet she chose not to return. Why? Did she foresee something within her son's fate, hints of darkness? That, we cannot know for certain, but if I were to guess, yes." The Dark One was now drinking heavily.

The words gave Estela a chill, for she knew that elven mothers had the ability to sense what their children would become when they carry them. Her own mother had said that she would bring light and joy and hope and thus named her Estela. But what could her foremother have seen that she would have feared to witness her son's future? Míriel had loved him so-

And in an instant Itarillë, her cousin, whom Estela had entirely forgotten about pulled her aside to hide behind a pillar of gold (not glass). "Don't believe it," she hissed. "Any of it. They were just jealous."

Estela stared at her incredulously. "Itarillë, they were not being jealous! She was too drunk otherwise to stop talking and clearly believed what she was saying! She was there- when my grandfather was born! She would know, wouldn't she?"

"What?" she demanded. "What has your grandfather done? He has done nothing but create-" but before she could finish, Maitimo, Estela's father, laughing with Findekáno, Itarillë came over and scooped them both up.

Shortly after, Estela and Itarillë were called upon to act in a play along with the Ambarussa and Telperinquar. Macalaurë winked at Estela before picking up his harp. It had been a comedy- Estela and Nityafinwë played two eloped lovers, and Telperinquar was the jealous lordling who loved the maiden (Estela's character) and was in turn loved by Itarillë's one, who was in turn loved by Telufinwë's character. The two of them had to flee and were pursued by the jealous suitor and the other maiden, and the other jealous one all of whom swore to make sorry whoever had their desired ones' love and chased them all the way round Sunny Valinor. By the end of it, nearly everyone was laughing so hard there were tears. When little Estela acknowledged their applause with a bow, they only clapped harder. Then she had jumped into her grandfather's awaiting arms, all ill words forgotten by her. But then Finwë's herald announced the arrival of none other than Aulë, the Vala Smith.

"He need not stand outside to wait!" Finwë exclaimed. "Pray give him entry!"

And so the Lord Aulë came, and in the strength of his powerful form, more powerful than any of the Eldar, grimness emanated, he spoke, graveness written among his face and the tones of his voice:

"I bring you the gravest tidings."

All voices stopped. All breaths, it had seemed. For as respectful as they were to a Vala, they also knew his news held deepest of terror, whatever it may be. Estela's grandfather held me tight, as if to shield me from such news.

"Melkor has been released."

The next moments were blurs of screams, gasps and it was as if all of Untumno had been released, which was terrifyingly close.

Maitimo, Estela's father grabbed his child and her mother and pulled them outside. Somewhere overhead, a bell was tolling- tolling the coming of sorrow, the coming of terror, the coming of grief and pain.

More pain and grief than any before.

The two were thrust into the awaiting carriage and they drove off into the night, the screams of fear accompanying them like the howling of the werewolves Melkor would soon command once more.


	5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

"Princess?" Estela looked up, distracted from her memories.

She blinked and then smiled. "There was never any need to call me that I gave up that title a long time ago."

"That's what many people still call you," Vorondo said dryly. He came in and closed the door. "Is something wrong?"

"Nothing," Estela answered automatically. Vorondo raised his eyebrow. "You are in a library- a room full of books." He said gently. Yet even though you seem disturbed, there is not a single open book in sight, so it can't have been something you have read."

Estela sighed. "Memories are hard to stifle. I was just coming here to find out as much on Númenor as I can. Ar-Gimilzôr as well, and all his weaknesses."

The ploy to change the subject worked. Vorondo pressed his lips together. "And still our 'source' remains undiscovered?"

"Thankfully, yes." Estela replied. "And before you ask, I do not doubt her heart in the least. Not even Ar-Gimilzôr is clever and cunning enough to go to such great lengths as to gain our trust to destroy us from within- using someone within his inner circle."

Vorondo frowned. But before he could question further, Estela shook her head. "They have risked enough as it is. Besides, I must speak with her soon enough." Vorondo nodded and looked grim.

A Sindarin minstrel, Vorondo once lived in woods, but soon enough, his home was sacked by orcs and _olog-hai _or trolls. Barely managing to survive long enough, Estela and her followers had saved him, treated him and rescued any other survivors. He insisted on coming with them to 'pay my debt' but Estela had refused, several times over with the warning that he would not wish to be near if he knew all. Vorondo persisted and kept following them for years until Estela, pitying him and admiring his spirit, allowed him to join. But it was only a little while later that she had admitted her blood to him. It didn't sway his loyalty despite his Sindarin heritage.

Estela watched him go and once again took out a mirror before retreating to her chambers. Murmuring words in Quenya, her cradle-tongue, the mirror misted and soon showed a face.

It was a human's face, but regal and noble, with nutmeg-brown eyes and chestnut hair, Inzilbêth queen of Númenor, wife of Ar-Gimilzôr the king, stared back at her.

"_Elen síla lúmenn' omentielvo," _the queen of Númenor murmured. _A Star shines in the hour of our meeting._

Estela smiled sadly. "Be careful, my friend. It is treason to speak the tongue of elves in your land."

The queen sighed. "I care not. My husband is away at the present."

"But what of his 'eyes' and 'ears'?" Estela asked. "Can you be sure that they are not near you?"

"They are not," Inzilbêth assured her. "I have convinced my husband enough to trust me. Thankfully he is not overly paranoid."

Estela felt her shoulders slump in relief. "That is good to hear."

"Do not worry about me for the present," the queen warned. "Ar-Gimilzôr is not foolish enough to attack the elven realms now, but he is building up in strength. He has ordered five-hundred ships to be built, although I expect their number to double soon enough, and the forges here in Númenor ring constantly, day and night, with the sound of hammering metal- mounted crossbows for great distances, battering rams, siege engines as well as smaller bows, swords, shields, spears. He is planning it all, and stockpiling on food. Umbar has been settled in, and not only Umbar, but lands to the east. Local populations have been quickly subdued and brutally conquered they are appointing tyrants- puppets serving my husband, amongst the locals and they serve my husband loyally as long as they get something out of it. The Easterling tribes are slowly falling under the influence of the King's Men. The Haradrim are expected to follow. The Variags of Khand too. Anyone who protests is brutally put to death. And we all know the Men of Harad may be poor in many places, and thus are easily manipulated. Their giant Mûmakil are being further bred to take on the realms of Middle-Earth, not just the elves, but the dwarves, the ents and other human races. Many lands are settled in daily and subjugation is swiftly delivered or else terrible death, to anyone who dares to stand against them. You will be, in fact, outnumbered and over-powered if Ar-Gimilzôr gets his way."

Despair flooded across Estela along with terrible dread. What in Arda were they going to do?

"You must tell Gil-Galad," the queen insisted. "And all the other elven kings, the dwarves, the humans that remain and the _Elendili_ that are exiled in Middle-Earth. For soon I fear we shall all be under Ar-Gimilzôr's whip."

_**Note: Inzilbêth was the wife of Ar-Gimilzôr, the twenty-third King of Númenor. Although the time of his reign was exceptionally hard for any elves there and for the Elendili, the Elf-friends, who were terribly persecuted and were eventually forced to flee, Inzilbêth was secretly among their number and taught her eldest son, who later became Tar-Palantir King of Númenor, to be better than his father, although her second son, Gimilkhâd, followed his father and the 'King's Men'.**_


	6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

Estela rushed and talked to Elrond.

Elrond left, his heart pounding madly as he first contacted the Lady Galadriel and her husband Lord Celeborn, and they devised what to do. Estela herself knew that Gil-Galad would accept no proof until it was solid. Furthermore, if she so much as revealed herself and gave evidence or claim, no one would trust her- they would prefer to be blind and deaf than accept the word of a Fëanorian.

Something had to be done.

Inzilbêth could be trusted- she wasn't mistaken, nor was she lying. Estela, grabbed her cloak and weapons, and proceeded to call a meeting.

As predicted the reactions from the others were pure horror and total shock. Estela took a deep breath and explained to them the plan for the time being.

They looked incredulously at each other.

"Princess- Estela," one of them began. Her name was Maltariel and she had known Estela since their childhood in Valinor. "Are we to understand that you plan to _divide _us?"

"In order for this plan to work," Estela said rubbing her temples. "We have no other choice- we need to work many things at once and in many different places. We cannot just come out into the open- Gil-Galad, no matter how well-reasoned and charismatic- cannot accept any word from anyone without solid proof. We need to find that. Furthermore, we need to at least buy the Free Peoples of Middle-Earth some time. This we can achieve by infiltrating and causing discord from within, encouraging uprisings."

"But they are Númenóreans!" An elf called Fëapoldon exclaimed. "They will know we are elves."

"Not if we are careful enough to avoid them," Estela replied. "We will be infiltrating the _colonies_\- not Númenor itself. Umbar is one of them- the lands of the Easterlings, Haradrim, Northmen, Variags and the others as well." She took a deep breath. "We can find out what's going on, bring back proof, cause discord, force them to reveal a hint of their doings at least to Lindon, Greenwood and the other realms." She took a deep breath. "I know that it is dangerous, one of the most dangerous tasks I have ever proposed any of us to do. And I swore to you, I will never exclude myself from any activity, nor ask you to do something I would not do myself. I also swore never to force any of you. So if you wish not to do so, I will not force you."

Everyone was silent. Then Vorondo spoke: "I think we all know we've decided long ago to follow you to the ends of Arda and beyond if need be."

Tulcano, her cousin smiled. Telperinquar, another cousin looked suspicious at the plan. "The King's Men are risking far too much," he declared. "But we need to do this we really don't have a choice."

"No," Estela agreed.

_A few weeks later, in Rhûn …_

Estela gazed outwards. She saw what was happening. Vorondo, as always, insisted on staying by her side. The others were there as well, covered in foliage as to blend in with the vegetation.

She held out her hand, ready for the signal.

Her emerald eyes watched as two Easterlings walked by, with light-coloured skin visible only in the light of the torches and through the black face-cloths they wore. They also wore gloves in burgundy, as well as matching tunics, trousers, and black leather boots, as well as finely-crafted armour: brass over-laying steel covering them almost everywhere.

Their armour looked heavy, but Estela knew that these were highly skilled and deadly fighters. Some women even fought alongside them men to protect their children and homes. The King's Men were wise to choose to settle here in Rhûn. Harad was poor and mostly barren dessert. Khand, the land of the Variags was mostly grassland, fit only to nourish animals, but Rhûn was fertile enough to feed not only the local tribes- whether they were nomadic horse-riders or civilisations in their sprawling empires- as well as any foreign army. But from what she could gather although hatred and bitter resentment were amongst the ranks of the peoples here, felt for their invaders, the King's Men had an iron grip. Furthermore, they were naturally suspicious of any foreigner.

Not that they needed to know they were being aided- or manipulated according to which point of view one looked at- by foreign powers. Estela had infiltrated them so deeply, and she had managed to do it very well. Yet she was also able to cover them up so that they had absolutely no idea, elves were involved.

And it would all start in a local tavern.

Well, if the Easterlings ever called it a 'tavern' that is. It was simply a place where men- no women patrons- went to eat, drink and enjoy themselves. The King's Men would be there as well, getting very drunk.

She smiled inwardly.

In that particular place, they _were _getting drunk. The King's Men were swilling down the local rice wines and fermented mare's milk that some people from Khand had brought in. They were roaring with laughter with some of the authorities- corrupt or related to the King's Men- and shouted insulting jests to some of the locals so much that one among their number, someone who served the tables, was hurriedly turning red.

The youth flushed as the men roared insults about the poorer members of the inhabitants of Rhûn, of which he was a part of. He had been born and raised poor, but he was proud and hard-working, and no one he had ever known was lazy, ugly or pathetic. His sister nearby also flushed.

The maid walked to the men placing huge cups of rice wine on the table. One of the King's Men took a swallow, and then spat it out as quickly as he had downed it.

"What," he asked dangerously, his face twisting into an ugly scowl, "is this?" he held up the empty cup to the girl.

The girl paled. The man stood slowly up and glared at the girl, still brandishing the empty cup.

"I asked for wine, girl," he said dangerously, slowly. "And you give me pig-swill."

The girl opened her mouth, but found that words could not come out her face became even more bloodless.

"Didn't I ask for wine?" the man asked. He suddenly grabbed the girl's arm and she cried out in shock and pain. "Answer me!"

One of the other men, a King's Man, sniggered. "You'd better beat her good, man, beat her like hell."

One of the Easterlings at the table smirked. "Use this," he said in heavily-accented Adûnaic, handing the first man a whip made of knotted leather with thorns imbedded in the prongs. The man grabbed it, his eyes shone with a wild light, and he raised the whip, but before he could even bring it down, an arrow suddenly protruded out of his left bicep. He screamed.

The others turned and directly behind him they saw the maid's brother, standing directly behind him, ready to intervene. It didn't even register in their drunken minds that he was holding no weapon they stood up and strode towards him, murder in their eyes-

Before someone came and punched the closest man in the face. He howled as his nose broke and started bleeding. The hooded figure then turned his attention to the other men who had frozen, then roared in rage and decided to attack.

He beat them easily and was soon joined by another hooded figure. Two elves hidden beneath hoods took on the men, while outside, the commotion was heard. The girl scrambled out shouting all that had happened in the streets and screaming for help. More people came, some were King's Men or under their employ, others were those that hated their tyrannical invasion and occupation. There were more elves beneath hoods with their weapons hidden but ready to be drawn, waiting for them outside the building. The girl running out and screaming was, in actuality, according to Estela's plan.

The King's Men and those working for them came and decided to help, in sizeable numbers, their comrades. But those who hated them ran forwards as well and they all clashed in the streets, the elves outside the building ready to stop anyone from harming the boy or their comrades inside. But there were some who interfered. While they were screaming and shouting insults as well as punching and kicking, the elves not only helped fuel the riots, they went inside the crowd. Estela was among them and she searched with sharp eyes, even for an elf, for a high-ranking King's Man. She spotted an important official- she could tell- on the outskirts of the throng. This would have to be done before her elves fuelled the mass public brawl into a full-scale riot. She crept silently through the crowd.

The official looked appalled. The Easterlings were famous for their metal-work, at best, rivalling the dwarves. This man was wearing a great deal of gold jewellery, enough to be ridiculously gaudy. He was a King's Man, but clearly took advantage of his position in the city to enrich himself and enjoy everything his position there had to offer. Estela drew her dagger underneath her cloak. She knew who this man was, she had found out everything to know about the officials in the city. She gestured to her elves in secret for them to fuel and spread the brawl even further.

Sure enough, the insults, screams and loud voices escalated. The punching and kicking was now joined by stabbing, slashing and so forth. The brawls spread, and Estela knew the man was in danger of leaving, she silently contacted a few eves with her mind and they understood. They were to surround the man and his retinue of body-guards and prevent them from leaving by bringing the crowds to them and surrounding them.

They were beginning to panic. Estela knew she had to act now before they would find it difficult to escape, even for an elf. She crept forwards, and the crowd came with her. The bodyguards of the man started trying every way they could to keep the crowds away which only enraged them. Then the litter they were carrying the man on fell down, a flurry of oriental silks. The man yelled before he fell down and found himself next to a hooded figure.

The crowd started attacking the bodyguards. Estela knew they would probably tear the man apart or else stampede him to death, and she wasn't that cruel. Despicable as some people were, better a quick death.

She drew out her dagger bent over quickly while the bodyguards were preoccupied (with her elves' help) and stabbed him. It didn't take long for him to die, she knew where to stab.

She melted back into the crowd.

It was disgusting- she would much rather take on whole orcs in a_ real_ battle, but now options were so limited, they weren't really options. She signalled her elves to withdraw and add to the crowd's rage.

She was inwardly shaken at her deed and wished with all her heart she could avoid such an act, but to save countless innocents, there was nothing better to do than to make the threat public to all of Middle-Earth, so that even the most stubborn and foolish were forced to see, this was merely phase one in the plan.

By morning, the man's body was recovered by the King's Men and the Easterlings working for them. They stared at it wordlessly. The governor and leader of the King's Men in the city gritted his teeth in rage and stamped out of the room. Then in a public square, a scaffold was erected. Ropes hung, the noose was ready for their victims- the maid and her brother.

Their parents sobbed in the front of the crowd. They weren't the only ones about to be hung- a merciful end compared to the other ways the King's Men dealt with their enemies, but still unjust. Members of the crowd were randomly picked and were about to be executed to show the locals that such uprisings would not be tolerated- these people would be examples of it.

They stood heads hanging on the scaffold beneath the ropes. The maid sobbed openly. Her brother lifted forlorn and hopeless eyes towards his parents in the crowd who sobbed harder. The governor bore his teeth in rage and lifted his hand, readying for the signal- except it never came.

The executioner had fitted the ropes around the victim's necks. He walked towards the end of the platform, ready to pull on the lever. But an arrow, suddenly imbedded itself deep inside his chest.

Suddenly all hell broke loose, armoured figures sprung out of nowhere, and Estela was amongst them, she jumped onto the scaffold, followed closely by Vorondo. She cut the ropes and they blinked and stared before she gestured for her elves to hurriedly take them- and the family who had watched. She then proceeded to cut down every soldier- King's Men or Easterling- that tried to attack them. Her elves joined her and soon she jumped onto a nearby platform with Vorondo and quickly dispatched the governor's body-guards and placed her sword right at the governor's throat.

"Who are you?" he snarled in Adûnaic.

Estela lifted her hood with one hand, baring her red hair and pointed ears. The governor's eyes were wide with shock.

"I am a shieldmaiden," she said in the same language. "That is all you need to know."

_**So the action finally starts! I'm pretty sure if you've watched the Lord of the Rings,**_ _**you would have seen the Easterlings- even if they made a movie mistake and gave them the banner of the Haradrim to carry. However they are not all evil, they were manipulated into following Sauron because of their hatred to Gondor, like the Haradrim and the Dunlendings' feelings towards the people of Rohan. I can't imagine that rulers as stuck-up and arrogant as Denethor the Steward would have been popular with them, but Aragorn and Éomer later made peace with them. However, at this point they were being taken over by the corrupt Men of Númenor, also known as the King's Men. **_


	7. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Gil-Galad stared at the family.

There were four of them- Easterlings, he realised-a father, a mother and their two offspring, barely into adulthood who stood there, all grimy and nervous, never before imagining that they would be standing in front of the elven king.

Elrond spoke first, "My King, these people are from the Land of Rhûn. And they have been rescued, fleeing here after their mistreatment at the hands of the King's Men of Númenor. They invaded their lands, subjugated their peoples and set puppets up as rulers and governors of State there. And not only in the Land of Rhûn. In Harad, in Khand and many more." He began to tell them all that Estela had told him.

The horror felt by everyone surpassed anything they had ever felt before, unless it was in the days when Morgoth still reigned.

"Impossible," whispered Artaner. "It cannot be."

"This family can attest to that," Elrond declared, "And we have proof."

He produced a dagger. "The metal that forged this blade was made in Númenor. There can be no doubt of that. The quality of this metal by far exceeds that of ordinary men, but it is not the work of dwarves. Nor was this made by the hands of the Eldar. Yet this was found in the Land of the Easterlings, and the artistry of the hilt and the cross-guard shows thus."

He held the ornate dagger upwards into the light.

Estela had procured the dagger, among other items. Not all of them went to Lindon. Some went to the Greenwood. Others went to Lothlórien to the court of Amdir. No doubt he and King Oropher of the Greenwood would have to be confronted by the truth. Celeborn and Galadriel dealt with that. The Elendili were also informed- they were there in Lindon.

Artaner started whispering something under his breath. The others went white and Elrond produced more items that Estela had given him- maps owned by the King's Men and their puppets with markers everywhere, building plans for fortifications, and so forth. The King's Men and their toadies in that particular city in Rhûn had been killed, not one survived. Let Ar-Gimilzôr think that they were killed in a mere uprising. She made certain that most of the people had either left or pretended to deal with those who 'caused' the revolt. He would not suspect elven involvement in this.

Elrond had the family tell the story. When the son had almost finished- Elrond translating for those that did not know their tongue- everyone was silent.

"Elves you say?" asked Lord Círdan.

Elrond translated and the young man hurriedly nodded. Círdan asked, "Who was their leader?"

The young man said something. Elrond straightened and looked at everyone. But before he could say something Gil-Galad said, "A very beautiful shieldmaiden with copper hair?"

Everyone started talking excitedly.

Elrond translated. And the man nodded, looking astonished. The look on Elrond's face was enough to convince Gil-Galad of the answer. The king nodded and after dismissing the family, instructed servants to see to their every need and comfort.

"So," he said slowly. "We have an ally- who will not meet us."

He left without saying a word. Elrond knew Estela's plan had succeeded.

Ereinion walked to his chambers. He needed time, time to plan, time to think.

He leaned back on his bed and sighed. Had any king ever been so weary?

He fell into a waking dream without meaning to.

A copper-haired female raced through the halls of a palace. Ereinion followed her, struggling to catch her. Even though she wore heavy skirts and her hair was unbound rippling and fanning out in a copper wave behind her, Ereinion could not catch her.

Running faster, she made a sudden turn and ended up in a hall of golden light, and then outside. Ereinion saw her stop. The outside world changed and he saw her high on a hill-top. Riding a horse, she wore armour, and her face and hair was concealed beneath a golden helm. Two swords hung at her hips, but Ereinion did not notice them and saw instead the maiden as she turned and looked directly at him, making his heart skip a beat. Emerald eyes shone through the helm.

Piercing eyes. And it pierced deep.

Thranduil son of Oropher stood as his father and their counsellors looked on in horror as Celeborn and Galadriel finished their tale and produced their evidence. There was war in the air.

He could only watch as his father learned, yet again, that copper-haired shieldmaiden, was responsible for warning them. Someone so beautiful that everyone just had to keep gawking at the mention of her. Thranduil smirked.

There had been sufficient proof for his father and King Amdir to believe the story. This elleth, whoever she was had saved countless members of the Woodland realms more than anyone would care to count. Unfortunately no one had ever even met her, except for those she saved.

Unfortunately the situation was far more serious than anyone had dared to admit. In Amon Lanc, Thranduil had always felt safe. Oropher, his father had settled in the Greenwood and it was and had always been his home, not Doriath. He was deeply protective of the people within and the forest itself. But now the Wood-Elves had never felt so threatened since the War of Wrath. Yet now, they were threatened.

Thranduil had always believed that the Race of Men could never over-power the elven realms, even if they tried. But elves had always been so generous to the Númenóreans. It was surely enough teaching Men literacy, agriculture and so forth, but to go to the lengths they did with Númenor? It was nothing short of insanity. Soon, he had predicted, they would wish to become elves as well, immortal, powerful, knowing. Thranduil would have preferred to leave the Men of Middle-Earth to their own devices. Now the Númenóreans really were betraying them- just as he predicted. He shook his head. Anger did not evade him as he remembered all the plants the elves brought upon Númenor- priceless things. Blossoms that could be picked and crushed and rubbed to give the most fragrant of scents, healing herbs and plants with amazing properties, even the White Tree- now they said it was withering.

Númenor was declining in their search for strength. They were growing wicked- evil in many ways, if not all. Now they were going for the ultimate betrayal.

Thranduil would burn the whole of Númenor wholescale before he would ever allow such a thing to happen- he would erase any memory of them from any archive.

He saw his father grit his teeth. Oropher, a strong-boned, broad-shouldered warrior whose face bore little resemblance to Thranduil's more refined looks, looked more enraged than his son had ever seen him. Turning towards the young prince, he saw that his father was silently asking him if he was ready.

Thranduil gave a gleam in his eyes that was nothing less than predatory. Yes, Númenor would pay.


	8. Chapter Eight

_**So sorry for the long wait! I have been researching about battle-strategies, so don't be surprised if you recognize certain great leaders' tactics in later chapters. The capital of Númenor by this time, I should think, has expanded into the kingdom's largest city that- although the outskirts are sparsely populated compared to its dense city centre- it still has suburbs, streets and so forth nearing the coastline. **_

Chapter Eight

_In Armenelos, Capital of Númenor. …_

Inzilbêth Queen of Númenor gazed at her husband.

He was growing grimmer by the day. He was middle-aged- for Númenórean standards- but the deep, graven lines on his face and the grey on his hair and beard made it quite clear that he was aging, and not very well.

Ar-Gimilzôr never once smiled. Inzilbêth found it deeply ironic- hypocritical even- that her husband and the rest of the 'King's Men' as they called themselves wished that their ancestors had chosen to be elves and envied them, yet despised every part of that race and anything to do with their culture. Speaking Quenya and Sindarin was now a treason punishable by death. Reading and writing in Tengwar was the same. She supposed they had become so jealous that if they could not join the elves, then they would despise what they could not have. It was a very human flaw- dwarves wouldn't have it, neither would the ents. And now because of his fear of aging and dying, her husband was now, ironically, aging prematurely.

The queen turned her gaze towards her two sons and daughters-in-law. Inziladûn her eldest stood with his wife, Gimilkhâd, her younger son, the very image of his father to the scowl, save for the lines and the grey in the hair and beard, had his own wife at his side and their son. The boy fidgeted.

Inzilbêth sighed. Inziladûn looked over to her in concern but said nothing. Gimilkhâd did not even notice him mother.

Ar-Gimilzôr may have certainly looked it, but although Inzilbêth did not, she _felt _it and that was even worse. She wondered if that was what Estela must have felt- nothing showing on her face, but all the sorrows and weariness locked up deep inside. She thought, secretly, her husband was a fool to be afraid of a few lines and grey.

Their evening meal was by far, less warm than a funeral banquet. The dishes were the finest Númenor could give, and they had new ingredients- exotic spices from Rhûn, but it all tasted like sin and damnation to the queen.

The meal went on in silence save for her grandson's fidgeting.

Afterwards she wanted to excuse herself. "I am tired," she said by way of explanation.

Ar-Gimilzôr stared at her. "Don't you wish you can see the spectacle?" he asked her.

"What?" she asked confused.

The king did not smile, but there was a glint in his eyes that gave her an icy chill down her spine, which spread. He stood and the rest of the family stood with him. Wordlessly Inzilbêth followed, fearfully wondering what he was up to this time.

They left the King's House, a palace of epic proportions and to Inzilbêth's surprise and amazement, with so few body-guards, they went onto the streets.

It was the dead of night. There were few people and the lanterns were lit. It was a good thing too, as they would have gaped seeing the royal family riding on the streets at night with so little escort (normally the king would have been too proud to go near a street).

Inzilbêth felt chilled and wrapped her mantle closer. She wished she had brought a proper winter cloak but her husband had not given her much time. She shivered. Unfortunately she had the feeling of realising that whatever 'surprise' her husband had in store, it would be much worse than freezing to death.

"What is it that you wanted to show us?" she asked, attempting to sound whiny and irritating to him about going out at night. That would be much better than to have him suspect her of treason.

It seemed to work. The king looked irritated and muttered. "We will be there shortly enough."

Then they came to a house at the edge of a cliff, after a long while. Inzilbêth looked curiously as her husband motioned for her to go inside along with their sons. She did so, feeling rather confused, and trying, so desperately, to calm the feeling of dread that had built up inside of her.

The interior of the house was very dark, she noted. But a torch was lit and passed onto her husband. The king held it aloft as he led the way, moving through silent corridors. Inzilbêth was dimly aware that they had stopped. Pale moonlight gleamed on the marble rooftops, and the bare ground and she realized they had entered a courtyard.

A courtyard overlooking a cliff.

In the courtyard, she saw a number of figures- some were dark-skinned, others of lighter colouring, they wore different foreign-looking garb- they must have been Easterling, Haradrim and Variag by birth and heritage by the looks of it.

Ar-Gimilzôr's eyes glinted. "These are the commanders of the Haradrim, Easterling and Variag armies. They have joined us in our cause."

The men bowed. They were tall and menacing and she did not miss the glint in their eyes which- although different- were similarly evil.

"Our cause?" she repeated foolishly.

"Yes," Ar-Gimilzôr never smiled, but she sensed his pleasure nonetheless. "Our cause. Our cause against the high and mighty elves and their traitorous friends who believe that they alone have the right to immortality and glory. Our 'friends' have made history for the past two Ages. But no more. Soon the Time of the Elves will end. The Age of Man is about to begin."

"No," he decided. "The Age of the Númenóreans, and their triumph against the proud and puny races of Arda." He breathed the words like a prayer, but to whom? He no longer prayed to the All-Father. The Valar were nought to him.

Inzilbêth managed to keep her voice steady, and sounded more whiny when she asked, "you still haven't mentioned to me what this 'spectacle' is."

The king did not smile, but he came eerily close as his mouth twitched.

"Come," was all Ar-Gimilzôr said.

He led the queen, his sons and daughters-in-law over to a ledge high on the cliff and they all looked down.

No words could describe the reactions they had at what they saw.

What they saw beneath, the light of countless flickering torches, as many as the stars that no longer shone on Númenor, the sight of tens of thousands- ships floating on the sea, the shouts of the captains and commanding officers upon them, the loud trumpeting of colossal Mûmakil or Oliphants, the vast hordes of mounted cavalry soldiers, not to mention the ones on foot. Nothing could describe it- the sheer size of it- nothing, she was sure, had ever been seen like this since the days of Morgoth Bauglir- no, not even.

"Magnificent, is it not," the king breathed in her ear. Just like the words of love he had spoken on their wedding day. "And soon, you will be queen of the whole entire world."

_In the northern shores of Middle-Earth…_

Estela gazed at the army of elves assembled to fight. The fortress built there was a clever one- they had the mountains and they would use it to their advantage.

Ever since they arrived the elves had assembled, Estela and her cousins included, building, hammering and shaping stone and metal, readying their arms for war. The plan was to draw the King's Men there. But that would require a fortress first, with ramparts, a draw-bridge, portcullises, and everything else a fortress would need- or rather it was one of three, and Estela and her followers had been working like mad for an extremely long time to build them- now they were hurrying to finish them- no small task, even for elves.

They were almost done.

Estela's eyes shone as she looked upon their work. The stone and metal were beautifully fitted, blending seamlessly into the mountain rock. If people believed that dwarves were the only ones who could build their homes in the mountains, they were wrong. The dwarves themselves would never believe it.

Estela saw the lights in the distance. She knew- as far away as it was, and unlikely that it would come to them any sooner- that it would still come. And when they did, they would have to break upon the walls of the mountainside, like water.

"Are you ready?" she asked her cousins.

Telperinquar grimaced but still nodded. As for Tulcano, he did not look happy, but neither was he unready.

Estela sighed.

"It is time. Send a discreet message to Gil-Galad. We are facing doom sooner than we hoped. We will meet him, however, our identities still secret, when the time comes."


	9. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

_In Lindon…_

Gil-Galad looked at the message in his hand, his heart thundering.

"Are you sure this is even possible?"

Elrond took a deep breath. "I'm afraid it is, sire."

Gil-Galad looked at the message, his heart hammering louder than it had ever hammered in his life. "You are certain this is reliable?" he asked.

Elrond looked grim. "My king, believe me, I would never have given this to you, until I saw further proof with my own eyes, which cannot be disputed. The ships and men in Umbar were only the tiniest portion of a much larger army. The same can be said in Khand, Harad and Rhûn. They concealed the worst from us, there in Númenor, can the worst be truly found."

Gil-Galad raised his head, keeping his calm reserve, like a king ought, even though his insides were colder than the Helcaraxë.

"Then we must warn the rest of Middle-Earth- the Free Peoples must never be taken by this by surprise."

"My king, they outnumber us far more than we have imagined in our wildest dreams." Elrond explained. "We were arrogant- arrogant and blind enough to believe that a whole race of Men would be as great an ally and friend to us all for all of time- arrogant enough to teach these people our craft and our wisdom, without teaching us our morality first- they were- and are still- children, compared to us. They are too young to understand, and will never understand, what the Ages have taught us. No matter how long their lifespans."

The king sighed. "You've told me this before Elrond."

Celeborn moved closer. "The King Amdir, believes this too. That is why he came to me, asking you to consider an alliance."

Gil-Galad looked up startled. "King Amdir wishes an alliance?' he asked, suddenly all-too-aware that he might have sounded stupid, and not like the king he was.

Celeborn nodded. "Yes."

Gil-Galad would have normally counted this as a great relief, even a success, but the memory of those mere figures on the paper extinguished any hope of hope and made everything worse than before.

He sighed and grimaced. "We will have to work quickly. We have been blind, arrogant even, thinking that the Númenóreans would come to reason and remember that once, we helped them shape their nation, and that the Valar were the ones who raised the island for them. No, those Númenóreans are long gone, and the ones that replaced them- also given gifts that exceed that of mortal men, though the gift of Men were also given to them- have gone greedy for more. It is rotting- the garden that we so carefully tended and watered- rotting from the inside out and producing such poisoned fruit that has threatened the whole nature of Middle-Earth- no _Arda_. For today it is Middle-Earth, how long before it is Aman?"

Elrond drew in a sharp breath. "Surely you don't-"

"Why not?" The High King asked. "They have already forgotten the Valar. They now only speak of them as if they tricked them or drove them into starvation, even though that very island was raised by _them. _They also speak of us with hate and envy. The teaching of our cultures has been forbidden in Númenor, now they plan to invade us." He shook his head. "I know Elrond. I know that your brother was one of the best beings I had ever known in all my years, and I know that it was he that founded Númenor, and became its' first king. But his descendants are nothing like you and your brother. They have been corrupted and are nothing like you and your twin."

Elrond bowed his head, still in shame. He thought it was a good thing that Elros was not here to see this. This would have shattered him- all his hopes on what Númenor and the Race of Men would become… The race he had so sympathised with and saw great potential in had become poisoned to the core.

And thus Lord Elrond-Half-Elven left the meeting in great sadness, the heavy weight of sorrow tugging at his heart.

_In Amon Lanc, Greenwood…_

King Oropher looked at the paper his eyes closing tight with dread. Fear was something he would never show to his elves, all of whom looked upon him to lead.

He would only do this in private. Just this once.

He rang a bell. When an attendant came in he said, "Summon Thranduil."

The elf nodded and left at once, closing the door securely behind him.

Oropher swallowed wine and took a few deep breaths to steady himself. If what Amdir and the Lady Galadriel said was true… And her powers had never been wrong…

The door opened, and the prince of Greenwood marched inside, standing straight and tall. Oropher opened his eyes and turned to see Thranduil.

"You summoned me, Father?" Thranduil asked.

"Yes," Oropher said shortly. "Come and see."

He handed his son the paper and turned away so he would not have to see the expression on Thranduil's face.

In the silence that followed, Oropher started to speak. "It is clear now that we need more allies. Can we truly count on the _Elendili, _and would even the elves of Lindon be enough? Even combined with Amdir's forces, it's not enough, it will never be enough."

Thranduil was silent. His face was stark-white but apart from that his fear did not show.

"We need more," Oropher said. "The problem is: where is it?"

There was more ominous silence.

"We can search out only one person, and pray to the Valar for the best." Oropher said strangely emotionless.

Thranduil looked up.

"Search out the shieldmaiden." His father said. "If she is truly sent by the Valar and the All-Father, then I fear she may be the only one to help us all."

"Yes, Father."


	10. Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

_**In Middle-Earth**_

The man shuddered in the night. Fearing the power and might of the King's Men was one thing, fearing that they would destroy everything and everyone that you've had and hoped for, was far more terrible.

He and his men had been travelling far. Waking up in the dead of night, told forcibly by his niece to flee or be killed by her husband, the leader of the _Elendili- _the faithful followers of the All-Father and the Ainur- hastened to tell his followers, friends and so forth. No doubt most of his family were safe, he thought bitterly. Save for his son and his late wife, sister, brother-in-law, niece and a grand-nephew and his wife, they were all King's Men.

Even his niece had been told to give away his whereabouts on the first night in order to keep suspicion out of hers and her eldest son's paths. He did not resent her for that- in fact he had told her to do so- but the rest of the family had betrayed them willingly. Now he feared they would never see Númenor again.

Besides him Lindórië his sister, wiped the sweat off her brow. "Do you think she was correct?" she asked.

Eärendur, her brother, shrugged. "She's your daughter. You tell me if she's mistaken."

Lindórië pursed her lips and looked worried. "Inzilbêth has never been wrong," she said determinedly. "And we _are _in danger. I just hope…" she bit her lip.

Eärendur could find no words to comfort her. Inzilbêth, their only hope in the lion's den, was in more terrible danger than they were. If Ar-Gimilzôr so much as suspected… Eärendur scowled at the mere thought of his nephew by marriage.

Inzilbêth, her eldest son and daughter-in-law were their eyes and ears in Armenelos. She had warned him to seek out an elven shieldmaiden, much to her uncle's surprise. Who was this person, and how did she come to know about her? But Inzilbêth would say no more, only that she could swear by the Valar and the All-Father, no less, that this person could be trusted.

Lindórië, exiled mother to the queen of Númenor, was about to say something when her brother held up a hand. "Hush," was all he said.

She froze, not knowing what to do. Then next thing he knew Eärendur found himself knocked off his feet and onto the ground. He was not the only one. His sister and other members of their company found themselves on the ground. A sword of slim make and a graceful one too was pressing its point against his throat. It was bright, reflecting off moonlight as if it too was made of the same light. This was not a sword made by Men, not even the Men of Númenor could make such a thing, and certainly no orc could do so.

Eärendur looked upwards and found himself gazing at the ice-blue eyes of a very tall elf. The elf's long silvery hair fell past his shoulders. His face was pale, almost the same shade as his hair. A smile played upon his lips.

"Well, well," the elf mused. "What do we have here? A man- Númenórean, no less. How… _interesting_."

Eärendur swallowed. "We mean no harm," he said, his voice trying not to quiver. "I am Eärendur and I am one of the Faithful," he said, his Sindarin miraculously reviving.

The elf arched an elegant brow. "Ah, so you do speak our tongue," he mused in Westron. "But forgive me if I wonder that it might be a lie or a trick- you see, even though the speaking of the elven tongues are forbidden within your kingdom, some of the older Númenóreans would have learned to speak it." The elf gave a dangerous, yet radiant smile.

"I am not a King's Man," Eärendur said as firm as he could with a sword to his neck. "I am one of the _Elendili _and prepared to die as such. The king has placed a price upon my head and that of my sister's-" he gestured to his sister Lindórië. "We have fled the country." He said finally.

The elf's lip twitched. But before he could say anything a rustle- unheard of by the humans- alerted to him that they were not alone.

Thranduil- yes that was the elf- knew they were in dangerous territory. This had been the third night since he left the Greenwood on his father's mission and already he could sense the danger, growing stronger. He froze.

A shriek pierced the night sky and a filthy orc ran forwards, its weapon above its head. Thranduil cut him down quickly enough but soon more took its place. Both elves and humans focused more on the orcs and decided to help each other… for the time being.

They busied themselves cutting down orcs. For Thranduil, it wasn't hard. He was considered to be one of the greatest living warriors in Middle-Earth, so with incredible, enviable ease, he disposed of any who came near.

It was much more difficult for Eärendur and Lindórië. They were getting old, even for Númenórean standards and Lindórië had limited instructions on how to defend herself, leaving Eärendur to do the best he could. For the second time that night, however, he found himself knocked onto the ground. The orc above him leered, revealing its ugly teeth and raised its weapon. But before either of them could blink, a flash of light occurred and the orc was missing its head. Thranduil looked grimly at the man before helping him up.

More ocs kept coming, but an arrow pierced through the air and imbedded themselves within one orc's body. The orc looked down in surprise, and to everyone's astonishment, more elves burst into the clearing and started killing orcs as easily as breathing.

Soon there were no more left. An elf came forwards. It was an _elleth_\- a maiden, wearing armour that simply accentuated her feminine curves- more curvaceous, though still svelte, than most female elves. Her skirt came to her knees and looked as if it were made of tough material and her helm covered her head and hid a great deal of her face in shadow.

The shieldmaiden removed them helm and Prince Thranduil of the Greenwood froze.

Her hair was the colour of deep burnished copper, gathered in a tight chignon, with richly glittering points of light which came from gold and silver strands of hair. Her eyes were so deep a green, emeralds would seem pale beside them.

He found what he was searching for.

The shieldmaiden's brow furrowed as she looked at him and members of his guard and then looked at the humans in the group.

"Eärendur of Andúnië?" she said in a voice as beautiful as she.

"Yes?" Eärendur said hopefully.

The maiden looked at him straight in the eye, then said in Quenya,

"_I speak to the pale branches, white as moonlight which have withered._"

_I speak for the roots that are still strong," _Eärendur replied the same way. "_I speak with the hope that the Tree might blossom again._"

Estela smiled. "Welcome, Lord of the Andúnië and leader of the _Elendili_." she gave a brilliant smile. "We have been expecting you." Eärendur allowed his shoulders to sag in relief. Estela frowned. "But you did not mention that already, you had elves to help you." she stiffened.

Thranduil bowed as did the rest of his group. "I am Thranduil Oropherion, Prince of Greenwood the Great." he said. "I have been instructed by my father to find you."

Estela froze in shock.

"Your father?" she asked blankly. "He wished to find _me_?" Thranduil nodded looking befuddled at the rate her face was growing paler.

"May I ask why?" she asked through frozen lips

Thranduil breathed deeply before pressing forwards. "My Father wishes to offer an alliance against the Númenóreans called the King's Men." he said. He paused, resisting the temptation to bite his lip before continuing; "My father believes that no matter how different we all are- be we elves, men or dwarves- we must all stand together or fall."

Thranduil was not as desperate as people might believe- until he saw the numbers the King's Men had in store for them.

"Wise words from a wise king," Estela said slowly. Thranduil blinked. Usually when people said that, it was a mockery of some kind, a veiled insult. But she said them with complete sincerity. "He is right, King Oropher is a strong leader and he knows what must be done. But even the best and wisest of elves may not wish to commit to an alliance with _me._"

Thranduil looked taken aback. Of all the answers he had expected- from outright insults to glad acceptances, this was not one of them.

He looked incredulous- to put it mildly.

"And why not?" he asked.

Estela shook her head. "Prince Thranduil," she said. "I do not say that we shall never come to the aid of your people when the time comes- when the time comes, should you need us, we will be there without fail. But we cannot go and declare a public alliance with your father. And I doubt very much that your father actually would."

Thranduil was even more confused than before.

"My lady," he said slowly. "Why should he _not_ want an alliance with you?" Estela shook her head sadly.

"It is not as easy as you say," she said quietly. "We have suffered- the ones that stay with me- and the deeds of our fathers have cost us greatly, even as they cost others so."

"I do not understand," Thranduil said. "Which people do you come from? Are you under Gil-Galad's banner?"

She shook her head. "We do not serve under Gil-Galad's banner, and he knows of us as much as your father and king does- very little. We have existed for an age now, and we have many in our midst- though not as much as you hope. But we have all suffered- and those that are oldest among us suffered the most. As I said, our own _kin_ cost us greater than you can imagine."

Thranduil looked startled. "You have had to deal with kinslayers?" he whispered.

Estela let out a harsh laugh. "If only _we_ were the ones slain," she said bitterly. "But we not only survived we _stayed. _I was dragged from the safety of my bed as a child and plunged into war and death- orcs, balrogs, vampires, werewolves, wicked men- and the pride of those that once claimed to love us. I have lost all- save for the ones that stayed to this day. And we can never go back, or so I believe. I was a child with no decisions, not like the King's Men who are fools enough not to realise what fortune favours them that they may make whatever destinies they want. They may leave the world instead of lingering in agony waiting for a curse to strike- believing that the Valar has abandoned and punished you simply for crimes you _did not_ commit- being nothing but a _child_\- but those who once claimed to have been close to you did." She tried to calm herself. "We swore we would never commit to such close ties ever again- not even with our kin, least a similar betrayal occurs."

Estela shook her head. "As I said, we will always help," she said. "But we make no direct relationship, no public alliance- I am sorry but we can no longer trust even our own kin- death is much better than the life they have forced us upon and left us to live. I would welcome Mandos if I must." She looked straight into his eyes and Thranduil saw the haunted look there- a look so haunted and filled with such suffering he would never come to forget even as the millenia passed. "But I would rather face Melkor rather than let those that go with me- or any innocent life- die."

_**So Sorry! I am facing difficulties- technical, going back to New Zealand, starting university again and being ill! But this is going to be a year I will never forget!**_

_**Eärendur Lord of the ****Andúnië**_ _**was the leader of the Faithful and the forefather to Elendil, Isildur, and Aragorn. **** Lindórië his sister was- as said- the mother of ****Inzilbêth. **_


	11. Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

_In Amon Lanc…_

"We are preparing for war," the king said gravely.

The elves in the audience looked pale and their faces pinched. What the king had just delivered to them was akin to a death sentence.

The elves of the Greenwood, he announced faced a terrible threat. Without hesitation on his people's discretions, Oropher had chosen- in order to prepare them- to tell them of the numbers the Númenórean forces had in store for them- and their allies.

They had never been more horrified.

Elves had never lost a battle with any other race. But only the most arrogant and foolish truly believed they were invincible. They were not, no one was.

Once he had finished with the audience Oropher left with a cold and heavy heart filled with dread to prepare himself for war. "Send a messenger to Gil-Galad," he said to an aide. "Tell him we wish to offer an alliance or else we will fall."

Thranduil had found the shieldmaiden quicker than he had dared hope for, but although she had promised to come to their aid when they needed it, she refused to commit to a public alliance and mingling of their forces. She was very secretive, Oropher thought wrinkling his brow.

He remembered the exact words of the shieldmaiden from what Thranduil had told him. He could not have been more confused. Thranduil doubted though, that she meant any harm. So what were her reasons and her motives?

They did not even know her name. She had refused to give it to them. Whoever this maiden was…

Oropher knew a few elves who had red hair- but they were the red of autumn leaves not burnished copper. And the ones that he knew were Wood-Elves- of Sindarin and Silvan heritage. She was clearly no Wood-Elf.

But that would make her...

_"No," _he whispered.

Could it be?

Oropher looked back at all his lessons and his memories- the Sacking of Doriath. The sons of Fëanor- there were three out of the Seven- three with copper hair which they had inherited from their mother who had never left Valinor.

But this was ridiculous. Oropher thought as he angrily shook his head. Fëanor had seven _sons _no daughters by any account. Yes, he had later learned that there were more members of the House of Finwë than was previously recorded- he learned that Fëanor had two-half sisters- one which stayed in Valinor the other which mysteriously disappeared- possibly dead- not long after she arrived in Middle-Earth. He also knew that Fingolfin had another son who died in battle, but never in any account whatsoever did Fëanor have any female offspring, although they said that he did try- with more sons as a result. But what about...

There were no records whatsoever that the Fëanorions- the Sons of Fëanor- had any children themselves- or even if they were married. He knew that it was unlikely that the twins Amrod and Amras- the two youngest- had been as they were very young at the time of death.

So who was this maiden? there were no answers, he feared- not her, but the Evil Men that prepared to invade Middle-Earth.

_In Caras Galadhon, __Lothlórien..._

Amdir the king of Lothlórien looked ashen and the council of lords and ladies were no better, Galadriel noted. Beside her Celeborn made the same observation- his brow furrowed and his blue eyes narrowed as he watched them shouting, gesticulating, making panicked eyes towards each other and loudly disagreeing with any ideas they all had.

It was the usual story, especially when war was imminent, she decided. She sighed. Hopefully, she wouldn't be missed. She needed to leave.

She spoke in her husband's mind: _the atmosphere in here does not bode well for thought. I need to leave and consult matters with our source._

_Agreed. _Celeborn said. Murmuring excuses, Galadriel rose and left.

She went to a window and broadened her inner eye- the one that was trained by Melian the Maia. _Estela, _her mind whispered, calling silently yet over huge distances. _Estela. _

The mallorn trees rustled their leaves, but there was no wind. The elves of Lothlórien did not notice anything amiss and carried their daily lives in the flets and on the forest floor. The news had yet to reach them.

Galadriel remembered the days of the Trees. She remembered the lovely silver-haired cousin that laughed with a voice like crystal music, she remembered also the other cousin with tall and magnificent with copper hair gleaming in the light. She remembered them with a pang in her heart that hurt so much she wished she would merely suffer and bleed than feel this.

_Artanis, _that was the name her father had given her. It meant 'noble maiden' and her mother had called her Nerwen- 'man-maiden' for her height and strength. Her mother had been Olwë's granddaughter- the reason why she was welcomed in Doriath. But what few in Middle-Earth knew was that Olwë king of the Teleri, had another granddaughter.

Arcalimar had been her mother's eldest brother, and his daughter had been the Telerin princess who married the eldest of the sons of Fëanor. They lived for many a century, very happily, but they never did have any children. Until both had gone to the Fëanturi- the brothers Námo and Irmo and their sister Nienna. Galadriel had gone with them and she remembered what they had said.

No one had ever known that the benevolent, yet frightening Lord of Mandos could convey such pity in his gaze. But it wasn't for the couple's childlessness, but for what was to come, she now knew. After a meeting at Taniquetil, the Fëanturi returned and she saw the pain and sorrow in their gazes.

_"The promise of the All-Father has been given and it is thus; that come the next year, on the night when Telperion gleams and glistens the most your child shall be born outside the cities of the Noldor. Hope she is and hope she shall be for those who have none- but beware, son of __Fëanáro__. For the deeds of the fathers shall be the child's future- to suffer for any deeds of ill that hath been wrought by the forebears, and to flourish and thrive in their skill and achievements. Whatever will be done, your child shall live and feel the pain of suffering and loss- and she shall grow and be great, glorious and beautiful even in comparison to Laurelin and Telperion, and as a beacon of hope, so will hands reach out for her- in a desire for hope or to destroy it." _

The child had been born as stated; outside of any Noldorin City and in the light of Telperion- which was unbelievably bright that night. The child's father had named her Eruvandë- the Oath of Eru- as she was the promise that was kept by the All-Father. but the mother had named her Estela- Hope in the Telerin dialect, for she sensed the girl would be the hope that was to come.

And a hope she is, Galadriel thought sadly. But not to herself. Never to herself. She lived in darkness, hiding and running from her family's dark past, fighting to save others, without even the hope of saving herself. She had suffered and the most sad thought was that it was never her choice. She heard the news when Melkor was released. She felt his dark power and witnessed the brutal murder of her forefather Finwë. But she did not stand in the Great Square nor did she raise a sword and repeat the words her grandfather had so infamously uttered- the words her own father would regret, weighing so heavily upon him. She never made the choice to leave Valinor, certainly she did not take part in any of the kinslayings. She was so small then, Galadriel remembered. So small everyone's habit. including her own, was to pick her up, cuddling her close, instead of allowing her to walk from one place to another.

And it was that, which enabled Fëanor to insist upon her coming to Middle-Earth. She had been special that child, with the gift to bring joy into everyone's lives, and the two grandparents had argued ferociously about her and their twin sons on whether they would leave.

_"She is too young- much too young!" Nerdanel had begged, her copper hair was dirty and hanging in strands the like of which Artanis and those that witnessed this had never seen. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes."Fëanáro, please-"  
_

_"She is my grandchild," he had hissed, the light in his eyes frightening her. __Fëanáro had had dark blue eyes, so dark it was almost black, but with brilliant silver eight-pointed stars shining and cutting through the dark with their light. His sons shared the same eyes, only the light had been very different in each save the twins. __Fëanáro's light was at times, bright and proudly shining, but at times, it had a crazed feverishness, such as when she saw him at work with one of his greatest achievements, and now it was there and it multiplied by the thousand. She also saw the light of rage, vengeance and hate in them. Never again would __Fëanáro be the same. "My only granddaughter. The only child of my eldest son- do you really expect me to leave her in the clutches of those that allowed this to happen?"  
_

_He had done the unthinkable- he blamed the Valar for allowing Melkor- or Morgoth as he had renamed him- to go free, and Artanis knew the trust had been broken and he would never allow his granddaughter or his two youngest sons to remain in the hands of the Valar- not even if the future should hold even worse in store for them. "Or perhaps," he had hissed. "This is what you wish. Is this what you wish, Nerdanel? That your husband of many a century be abandoned by his own sons- his grandchildren? That the child given to our family by Eru, the All-Father should stay here, going to waste, allowing her gifts of great promise be unused in the fight against evil? Is that what you truly wish- to go against me, against _us_?" his voice was filled with rage. "Was it Aulë that persuaded you to say this? Did you choose to listen, to sway my mind? They all decided to come with their father and grandfather. Abandon them if you will Nerdanel," she heard him say with a poison he had never spoken to his wife before. "If you should choose to stay. I never will leave them in this cage which never saved my father from harm."  
_

_Nerdanel stepped back, as if stabbed. Then very quietly with a voice like steel, she said:_

_"Even you, __Fëanáro, would not have them all."  
_

It was the last time they had ever spoken to one another- the husband and wife that had lived very happily and begotten seven children and a great many grandchildren. She closed her eyes, grief rising.

_"Surely you cannot believe-"_

_"Maitimo, he is your father, your own father, there is no way, he can never-"_

_"He is not my father!" Maitimo shouted, all restraint leaving him. Shocked by this outburst they all started. Even __Arafinwë, her own father stepped back. Her cousin, _  
_Eärelen, sucked in a deep breath and moved to reprimand her husband.  
_

_"Maitimo! What is it that you are saying? __Fëanáro will always be your father, no matter what happens! Did he not beget you? Did he not raise you and love you, teach you how to write, how to shape metal?" she exclaimed. Her eyes were wide, violet, an unusual colour, richer and deeper than amethysts. She shook her head, her hair, more brilliant than woven silver, almost blinding impressive even for a Teler.  
_

_Maitimo shook his head. "He is not the same." he muttered. "He will not listen! He will never listen. And my mother is gone."_

_There was silence. Then Maitimo took a deep breath and said, "He has insisted that Estela accompany us to the Outer Lands."_

_There was a shocked gasp from members of the Telerin royal family and the court. The mother of the child herself went so pale, it was alarming even for her. Her delicate hand clutched at the carved arm of the chair. _

_"What?" the other grandfather of the child shouted. "Is he mad?"_

_"Mad?" Maitimo let out a harsh, terrible bitter laugh, "Of course he is mad! He is mad as literal as that word could ever be! This is not the father I have known and loved- this is not the grandfather that protected my child! This is not the same person that helped construct your cities and often met with you in good will! And I warn you now, that he insists on going to __Endórë, and taking my child with him! I cannot disobey now that he is king and I do not know _what _he will do, but now that we have sworn-"_

_He closed his eyes. "I should have never sworn," he whispered, sinking into a couch. "I should have never sworn as well."_ But this regret would be nothing like what he would feel when the kinslayings occurred, when the ships at Losgar burnt, when his family started dying.

_Maitimo opened his eyes. "You cannot stop him," he whispered. "No one can. He is leaving Aman, leaving for the lands that have long since been abandoned by the elves save the Avari. I pleaded, begged with him to let Estela remain with her mother here in Valinor, but he would not have it anymore than he would from my mother. I am also here on his orders-"_

_"He wants ships," Arcalimar realised. "he wants them to sail to the Outer Lands."_

_Maitimo closed his eyes again, nodded and buried his face in his hands. "I told him- we both did," he said gesturing to Macalaur__ë, his brother also married to a Teler, "that the Teleri value their ships as much as we value the work of our hands: our jewels and metals. And that you have every right to keep them. But he wants vengeance, my father, he wants it so badly much." Maitimo could not describe the madness that burned in F___ëan_____áro__'s eyes.  
_

_Olw__ë took a deep breath. "I will go to him," he said standing. "I will remind him that there is no need for such hasty actions- we have always been friends in the past and perhaps I can remind him of those days."  
_

_"I will go as well," Arcalimar announced, also standing. "I am Estela's grandfather as well, and perhaps I can remind him of that, and never to trade her safety for the desire for vengeance." _

_Maitimo raised alarmed eyes at the two of them. "You cannot stop him," he whispered. "He is mad. He is not the same person you once knew. He has lost all reason." _

_"We must try," Arcalimar said.  
_

_"No!" Everyone started at Maitimo's alarm. "It will only incense him further. He is already enraged! Don't! You do not know what he will do next- what he might make others do!" He was no pleading, no, begging them. _

_Artanis sat frozen watching her cousin, while her other cousin, his wife, was like ice and snow herself. _

_Olw__ë looked grave. "We must try," he said. "This is a child of our family. These are our ships. And __Fëan__áro and his father Finw___ë before him have always been our friends. We cannot let him lose his reason._ _

Needless to say their reasoning did not work and resulted in the First Kinslaying at Alqualondë. Galadriel now realised that what the Fëanturi had warned her cousins were true. Estela had suffered the consequences above all else. Was it kindness to bring her into a world so her destiny would be to suffer?

She wondered if it had been the right thing to ask the Valar and the All-Father for a child for her cousins. Fëanor had refused to let the child remain in Alqualondë and was mad with rage when they had refused, accusing them of breaking oaths of friendship just as he had accused his wife.

Galadriel sighed and blocked the memories from her mind. She reached out again, broadening her line of thought. _Estela. _

There was a warm mental wave throughout the air of the forest. Then after a silence, came a response.

_I am here._

**_Yeah I know- it's frustrating when the elves have so many names- the ones their fathers gave them, the ones their mothers gave them, their patronym, their family, their nicknames, the ones the Sindar gave them, and so forth. Flashbacks would mean that the ones that were present on Valinor when all that occurred would remember them as the names they had before the Sindar gave it to them, but when, for example, Galadriel, comes back to the present, she remembers them as being what the Sindar would call them. As for the italics, I know that Estela didn't have italics in _her _flashbacks, but possibly that's because the memories were much stronger and much more traumatic for her. And soon, they will figure out exactly who she is- the daughter and granddaughter and niece of kinslayers. What will happen to her then? How will they react? _  
**


	12. Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

Estela waited until it was night. She didn't want to leave. Didn't want to see war. But she realised a long time ago, that her wants and even her needs mattered far less than others.

It was something she resigned her whole life too.

People saw her as strong- Artanis, or Galadriel as they now called her, Celeborn and their daughter, Elrond, her cousins and followers, even those who had not a single clue who she was. But she was sick of it.

Estela could laugh out loud at the absurdity of Ar-Gimilzôr's desires. He wanted immortality- and the reason he so hated the elves and the Valar, was because he was denied just that. But even though he would die, he was a man and he could choose whatever he desired his destiny would hold. Not her. She was immortal, ageless. She was born when the Trees of Valinor still waxed and waned. She would linger on- and she did- unless she was killed. She was there when Finwë, her forefather was murdered. She remembered when the light of the Two Trees was drained leaving the skies completely black. She remembered Melkor, no Morgoth's presence. She saw Ungoliant. She witnessed her grandfather going mad and for some reason, some nameless, reason, he insisted on bringing _her_ to Middle-Earth, to the land they called Endórë, where orcs ran rampant, and it was a mystery that the Avari even survived, she remembered watching- a night she would never forget as it burned itself deep into her _fëa _and her mind- as her father, her grandfather and her uncles all swore an oath and raised their swords to the sky. She remembered boarding the ships and seeing for the first time, what many eyes in Aman had never seen and what eyes of a child never should see- destruction and death. She remembered watching the ships burn at Losgar. She remembered the deaths of each of her kin. She remembered when her father was taken and put to torment by Morgoth. She remembered when her mother, who insisted on accompanying her husband and child, despite her mad grandfather's doings, believed that they had somehow died, and faded herself from grief. She remembered what happened to her father, and the only remaining uncle that was now lost, whose fate was unknown.

Not once did she regret the loss of the Silmarils though.

If she had herself acquired those jewels, never would she have kept them. She would have destroyed them, defiled them, and burned them all at once. She cursed the very day those gems were completed. She cursed the day her grandfather began them.

Galadriel did not think that Estela witnessed those memories, and Estela pretended she did not, but she did and the memories came back, all too painful for her. But at least now she knew why her grandfather insisted on bringing her to Middle-Earth. She did not know however, if it made her feel better to be the cause of the disagreements between both grandfathers- the ships and her. That was what Fëanáro wanted and acquired. He believed that she would somehow turn the tides in their favour.

Estela clutched the balustrade of the balcony then went inside.

The son of King Oropher troubled her. She felt that when she spoke she allowed her bitterness and pain to speak through, and if Oropher were as clever as he should be, and of that she was certain, then she knew that he would have his suspicions, and possibly very soon find out her identity.

What then? She would be an outcast, a pariah. As said, elves did not naturally hold to the same prejudices as the race of Men, but could they deny that the blood within her veins is cursed- doomed by Mandos? She could not return to Valinor. She was not sure if the Valar would allow her back and if the elves would consent to having her in their midst- it might be cruel, but after so much death, who could blame them? And even if she could, she was not a mistress of her own fate. She was an elf. That meant that she followed whatever was written for her in Eru's mind, and imprinted upon Varda's stars and embroidered into Vairë's tapestries. She could never choose.

This was the price of immortality- if they were not living in bliss they would feel pain- eternal pain. She could never choose her fate- that was for mankind. She never spoke of her pain to anyone, save Vorondo. Oh, Artanis and Elrond knew about it well enough and so did Celeborn and Celebrían because they were told. But no one else.

And oh yes, any servant of Morgoth that remained would love nothing more than to hunt her down and slaughter her. No, she knew she would enter Mandos' halls sooner or later, she would not, however, go there an outcast, a pariah, no, if she had to die, she would do the right thing, for the right reasons- not for glory, not for treasure, not even for vengeance or for the sake of her own redemption.

She sighed. _I no longer fear the Doom of Mandos,_ she realised. Because whatever it was, it could not be worse than everything she had lived through.

* * *

_In Lindon..._

Gil-Galad glared at his councillors' retreating backs.

They were really beginning to try him.

And not just them- the King's Men- the king himself of that now-forsworn and accursed island, the ones that wanted alliances one minute and then something else completely another.

And most of all, that mysterious reportedly beautiful figure of a maiden who gave aid whenever and wherever she could but refused to even meet them face to face despite what they needed.

Gil-Galad had his strong suspicions on who this shieldmaiden was, but he did not voice them out to anyone. Even more suspicious was that she seemed to know _exactly _what would bring all the elves of Middle-Earth together- no matter what their differences- always she had managed to find excellent proof of danger- not to mention knowing _where _to find them- witnesses, survivors and such like- and managed to get them all into the hands of people who could present them to the court. Always had she been able to convince everyone on what needed to be done- without even meeting any of them.

Not to mention what he had heard about her skill and mastery of tactics and the blade- that was unparalleled. No, he did not think she meant any harm, after going through so much trouble, but he needed to find her and find her fast.

Gil-Galad hated spying, but at times like these, he knew that a few more pieces of information may be the difference between life and death for many.

The High King wore clothes of modest design- no emblem or crest- nothing fine, not what anyone would expect a king to wear.

He wore a disguise while he rode out into the night.

He was no longer the king- not to himself at least. He was an elf on a mission.

* * *

Estela could not sleep.

She felt her emotions and memories roiling like boiling waves threatening to rise at the surface.

She finally exhaled. _It is alright, Little One, _the voice of Artanis whispered in her mind. _Let them flow, the pain will be easier than if it is holed down below._

Estela knew better than to go against her advice. So she slept- her waking dream was as vivid as she expected.

* * *

She was clutching a doll in her hand bouncing it up and down- she was bored.

The past few days were a tumultuous change for the young elf. Even though Laurelin's light shone bright and warm during the day, she was never allowed out of her parents' sights. Her grandparents insisted on the same.

Everybody talked in hushed voices and whispers. Everyone huddled together in pairs if not packs, as if they were seeking comfort, warmth against some invisible evil. Nobody liked to go out, and windows and doors, she saw with astonishment, were kept tightly shut and locked. It was never like that before. Before there had been laughter, smiles, shouts of greetings, waves, excitement, joy. But no longer. And no matter how much the little elf tried to block all the negative feelings- she still felt them.

Nothing was the same.

No one ever went out at night. Even though Telperion's light glowed silver and brilliant, and the stars illuminated the sky above, no one ever went out during the night.

She had a tighter rein of control upon her- tighter grips by her parents' hands. stricter rules- when it was time for bed, she was _going _to bed- more boundaries- she couldn't go out too far in their garden, couldn't go past the gate, couldn't leave her parents' sights.

She couldn't wait for it all to go away. And then it would go back to the way it used to be. But she was wrong.

She knew who Melkor was. Her father had told her on the night they said he had been set free. He insisted they all slept in the same bedroom.

Melkor did horrible, evil, awful things- against not only the Valar, but the All-Father as well.

Estela sucked in a breath. No one, _no one, _ever went against Ilúvatar, the highest, most holy, most powerful and benevolent creator of whom no one would exist without- not even the Ainur.

But Melkor did. Atar had told her, when the Valar heard that the elves were now awake, they invited them to travel from the dangerous Outer Lands, where Melkor lay to go to the safety and bliss of Valinor.

Not all of them had made it.

Some of them could not bear to leave and mistrusted the Valar (Estela sucked in another breath; another blasphemy). Others went on the Great Journey, but never made it- they were either lost, or in many cases- kidnapped by Melkor.

He took them down to his dark fortress. He hurt them, changed them. They were no longer elves when he was done- they were _orcs. _

Atar told her all about them. She had never been more afraid- now Melkor was free- what if he wanted to hurt and change her into an orc too- and her parents?

She tried to be happy. She sang, she played- she got the twins and her cousins to act in plays and sing silly songs, so that the adults were able to smile, but the smiles never lasted- and laughs never came.

A swirl of memories hazy as they come, danced in front of her eyes. She then saw something else.

Her grandfather was hammering away in his forge- nothing out of the ordinary, for which she was relieved. She strung some beads to make a simple necklace. But the air grew dark and cold, and although they could see Laurelin, she was barely there.

Her grandfather stopped hammering.

The hammer dropped onto the anvil and Fëanáro son of Finwë straightened. He frowned and his noble brow furrowed. He took off his smith's apron and set it on the hook near the forge's entrance and washed his hands. Estela looked up, brow wrinkling and lips pursed in puzzlement. Fëanáro knelt down and gave her a warm smile.

"Have no fear Little One," he said gently. "I think we must have a visitor." He tickled her, while she giggled and picked her up, cuddling her close. He kissed her head. He took her inside the house. Fëanáro opened the door and froze.

Outside the door a tall figure stood smiling. Fëanáro was frozen like ice and he went even whiter.

"Greetings, Fëanáro son of Finwë," the figure bowed. His voice was rich and deep- like golden honey, like gold instruments, washing over her like warm waves in her dreams. Estela felt dizzy.

Fëanáro finally spoke. "What is it that you want?" He reached out with his mind to her. _Estela, go quietly upstairs to your room- close the door- do as I say! _

Estela felt the blur of visions and memories again- but it stopped soon enough.

* * *

There was an elf- a tall elf, noble and strong, majestic in his bearing. Estela woke up.

She blinked. Without even stopping to think- she might have even realised she was unable to stop herself if she tried- her mind clouded with her dreams, she got up and got dressed. Her hands dreamily fashioned her hair in a pleasing manner.

In a dream-like state the daughter of Maedhros the Tall, by some means other than her own, dreamily walked barefoot outside.

They were all asleep- her cousins, her friends. She listened to their soft breathing; she glided soundlessly through the courtyard, not even blinking- she felt like she was floating, and her feet didn't even feel the hard ground.

She wondered what was going on- but there was no pause for her to take, no time to think. And seemingly asleep the grandchild of Fëanáro glided- or floated- on.

She didn't wear a cloak- and the cold of the air did not bother her- no surprises- she was an elf, more resistant than humans- but she in her mysterious dream-like state found nothing and no one to stop her- as if a spell had placed them under the deepest of sleep.

She left the safety of the fortress- the gates were open and unbarred- they _never _left the gates opened and unlocked- they were among the most careful and hunted beings in Arda. This should have stopped her- this should have alarmed and roused her to panic...

But it didn't.

Was she floating- if she could look down, she would have realised, curiously, that her feet didn't even touch the ground. What magic was involved she never knew- whose it was, she couldn't answer either, even if she tried.

She was in the woods.

Estela registered in a dream-like trance that the leaves rustled softly and the branches seemed to push her gently along. Perhaps the ents were behind this... but she never knew.

She left the woods. She didn't know how long she travelled or how far, but time seemed to melt in her strange state. This was clearly magic- but she couldn't even bring herself to be panicked by that.

Suddenly her feet touched the ground- soft grass and soil, she realised somewhere in the back of her mind. She glided softly, soundlessly forwards- this time by her own feet.

Several orcs stood hunched over a carcass- of what she didn't know. It could have been a deer, or else one of their fallen comrades. But they were tearing at it greedily and growling deep into the flesh.

Her hand, still dreamlike, rested gently upon her sword hilt. She stepped forwards, moving aside a branch.

The orcs straightened, whipped around and saw her. She was still dreamy, doused with strong magic.

Estela didn't remember drawing her own sword. She could not understand why her movements seemed to be like a dream- she didn't feel the cold rush of air and she used to when she swung her twin blades. She didn't feel the weight of the weapons in her hands. She didn't feel it when the blade sliced through the orcs, like softened butter. She spun and moved like she used to when she was in control of her senses, her movements, her mind and body, but she wasn't in control.

The orcs died. She let the blade drop. Gracefully she stood.

She was being watched.

She turned her head, feeling the ties on her hair loosen themselves. The mane of rich burnished copper, shot with Telerin silver and gold, spilled down, thick, curling and soft. Dreamily she raised her head.

A tall elf with a majestic bearing and an impressive poise stood staring right at her. He was beautiful, with handsomely chiselled features and midnight hair. His eyes were a deep sapphire blue.

Ereinion Gil-Galad stood staring at the maiden whose burnished copper hair cascaded down her back, thick, soft and rich, it seemed to entangle him deep within despite the distance, it was so _deep _and _rich _and _red. _

Her figure was clad simply, with little armour and adornment, but nothing could disguise the svelte gracefulness, and the voluptuous curves that formed her perfectly.

Her face turned towards him. His heart stopped and went in his throat.

It was more radiant than the Two Trees. More beautifully shaped, more delicate than any gem, flower or snowflake- a guise for great strength. Her rosebud lips parted slightly and her large liquid green eyes, deeper than emeralds met his, black lashes framing them.

Ereinion knew he was caught when his heart constricted and started thundering madly. His own weapon dropped.

Estela's eyes held onto his and even when she slowly turned away; him rooted to the spot by something even stronger than the magic that controlled her, he was unable to look away. Ereinion Gil-Galad felt as if something as strong as Angainor had fastened to something deep inside of him attaching it to her.

And when she walked away, he felt it- something irreplaceable, priceless and the essential _core_ of his very being being pulled away with her.

She didn't look back.

And as Estela walked she actually managed to produce a thought of her own: _What in Arda just happened? _

_**Yeah, what the hell just happened? What was that magic- whatever it was. And what happened to Gil-Galad? **_

_**Notice this might be the last frequent time I ever call the king 'Gil-Galad', soon its just Ereinion, what his friends and family called him with rare moments of someone referring to him as such. And Angainor was the chain that bound Melkor/Morgoth when the Valar captured and imprisoned him. **_

_**This might not seem like much, but everything's going to change.**_


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

Estela looked up.

Her head had been lying on the bed, but she was kneeling on the floor. And she was certain that she had her whole body on the bed when she went to sleep.

More than that, her hands were outstretched. One hand grasped one of her beautifully-crafted and weighted swords- designed to be used for both hands or just one- and the other held its scabbard. She blinked.

When she looked down, she was dressed in light gauze, golden in colour, baring the creamy colour of her skin in a number of places. She blinked.

Cold shock slammed into her as she remembered last night, and she thought-

_No. _It had been a dream, hadn't it?

No, her dreams had never been hazy as they were that night. They were always so vivid. But reality certainly wasn't hazy either, so what in Arda happened that night?

The image of the tall magnificent elf slammed into her mind. How his sapphire eyes had widened in shock and seemed soldered onto her. He had seen her.

But it was a dream wasn't it?

Hastily she deposited her sword and sheath on a nearby table as if they were scalding and jumped back, as if they were tainted.

_No, no, no. _It couldn't have been real!

But then if it wasn't a dream, she wasn't in control of anything that happened at that time. Fear, shock- _pure, complete terror _surged through her as she realised that if it wasn't a dream, and she couldn't control herself, it _had_ to be magic.

_Magic._ But whose?

Shock and fear threatened to sweep her and topple her. She grasped a chair, steadying herself, taking deep breaths, her hand shaking.

Someone knew where they were. Someone could control her every movement. _Someone _or_ something. _

More fear and more terror as cold as ice swept through her, until she realised another possibility. _Artanis. _

Warm, almost joyous relief swept through her until she realised that there was no way, trained by a Maia or not, that Artanis could have done that. The Ainur themselves would never have done such a thing. Never.

The terror most certainly would have overwhelmed her were it not for the sharp knock on her door. She jumped. "Yes?" she called out.

Vorondo came in. He started when he saw her. "Estela?" he asked alarmed. In a few strides he was onto her, cupping her face in his hands. "What has happened," he whispered forgoing all formalities.

"I-" she couldn't tell him. How could she tell him? How could she sow panic and fear if anyone were to know that they had been discovered and worse yet, think that someone or _something _had access to them and could animate them using magic?

This was not the time. Surely Vorondo would have something to tell her?

"Just a bad dream," she said attempting to smile. But Vorondo did not smile and so she frowned. "Vorondo? What is it?" she asked worriedly.

Vorondo took a deep breath. "The Númenórean fleet has sailed."_  
_

Estela took a sharp breath and felt ice filling her as sharp as ever.

"They will be in Middle-Earth in less than two weeks, if not sooner," Vorondo said. "Their ships are superb and their men are strong and hardy for mortals. Apparently your 'source' has just spoken to the leader of the _Elendili _and to Tulcano, your cousin."

Tulcano had just been recently introduced to their 'source' the queen of Númenor. Estela finally took a risk.

She drew back. "Summon a meeting in the great courtyard," she said urgently. "Tell them to dress and ready themselves to ride out and to gather as much provisions as soon as possible." Vorondo nodded, realising the urgency and hurried out of the room.

They were in trouble.

And as she rushed dressing, putting on her armour and packing, she realised now would be a good time to make some bold decisions.

She just prayed they wouldn't regret it.

* * *

Ereinion dipped his head into the stream yet again and drew it out, breaking the surface and inhaling the air sharply as the cold liquid gushed down and splattered on the ground.

He gasped, his blue eyes wide.

He needed to dip his head again.

If he even bothered to think, he would have thought on how absurd this was, and if anyone should find out- the High King of the Elves and the Noldor of Middle-Earth...

His heart pounded and his body felt hot- hot from the blood boiling and the shaking.

He took deep, uncharacteristically shaking breaths.

He burned, his heart thundered.

He shook his head.

How could a High king of the elves act and think in such a way?

Underneath his skin, he burned, though the water that sloshed all around him had been cold.

His head itself now pounded even as his heart hammered.

His mind still burned with the image. The maiden- beautiful even by elven standards.

Impossible, unbelievable, shockingly devastatingly so, but it was true.

He had seen her.

And as his blood boiled hotter heating him beneath the skin and the loud noise of his own heart kept going on, he knew now he could never forget.

Not ever.

* * *

They had ridden out in separate directions, and Estela cursed herself silently, for not planning _this. _She knew the Númenórean fleet was going to sail, but she had no way of knowing that a fleet of such immense proportions could sail that soon! She did not blame the queen of Númenor- Inzilbêth had already risked more than enough and so did her eldest son and his wife- but apparently the queen had told her that the numbers the Númenóreans had, had been accumulated at such a short time- _how was that even possible? _Ar-Gimilzôr must have been keeping this a secret for decades- even from his own wife and son. And apparently they were even _bigger  
_than the numbers the queen had initially warned them of.

With the Haradrim and the Easterlings under their influence, the queen had said that Ar-Gimilzôr planned for them to attack from the east, and while the Free Peoples were occupied with keeping them at bay, 'Wild Men' as some people arrogantly called them or Dunlendings- who had been promised control over the Northmen lands specifically those of the Éothéod- the Horse Lords- would subdue, kill and invade such territories. The Númenóreans had promised them a great portion of lands for breeding- and they had always hated the Northmen and now the disputed lands which now hold the city of Perlargir- under the control of the _Elendili. _

Meanwhile the Númenóreans would attack, they would arrive in the Bay of Belfalast, and she had to warn everyone- or rather she had to tell her 'sources' to warn the kings, while she dealt the enemy as much damage as she could- weakening them and discovering any weaknesses. Their enemies had planned to cut them off, isolating each kingdom while they picked them apart and smashed them to pieces separately. She had to do that to _them _in return before they all fell.

She tried to slow the panicked racing of her heart- and so while she breathed deeply, she urged her horse to go on.

* * *

Elrond tried to calm down, but it was really trying him. He was truly panicked but for the sake of everyone, he could not afford to let himself go loose. He needed to find Gil-Galad.

He rode out of Lindon, when trying to find the king. Thanks to Estela's warning, Elrond knew, and thanks to his Gift of Foresight, he knew how to locate the High King.

He found Ereinion kneeling on the banks of a stream, soaking wet, taking deep breaths and clutching at his own upper-arms and shivering, somewhat flushed and pale at the same time, his sapphire eyes wide and wild. It terrified Elrond.

"Ereinion," he called out in a panic. He jumped off his horse and hurried over to him. "What is it, what happened?"

"I-" then he scowled. "Nothing, nothing Elrond." he took a deep breath yet again. "What is it?"

Elrond's brow furrowed in suspicion. "My king, we have received word that the Númenórean fleet has set sail. They will be here in less than two weeks."

"_What?!"_ Ereinion almost tripped as he scrambled to get up, looking rather wild. "They are coming _now__?" _

"Ye, my King," Elrond said grimly. "And that is not the first of threats that we face. The Haradrim armies are moving north, at the Númenóreans' guidance. The Easterlings are also making their way west as we speak. And apparently the numbers that we thought they had, has been doubled." He shook his head. "We must send out warnings- and we must prepare ourselves for war."

"Of course we must," Ereinion snapped. He found his horse and mounted it, readying to leave. "When we go back to Lindon we must send out word to every elven, dwarven and human kingdom-"

Elrond hesitated. "My King there is more."

Ereinion froze in the act of leaving.

Elrond himself looked pale as he said, "The Dunlendings are in an alliance with the King's Men. There are other men too. They will do their utmost to keep us occupied and to weaken us. They are the shock troops that the King's Men Númenóreans have in store for us."

Ereinion groaned and closed his eyes. This was going to be much worse than he had ever dreamed.

* * *

Word had been sent out to Greenwood, Lothlórien, Imladris and the _Elendili_ present in Middle-Earth as well as various Northmen groups.

The sound of hammering, rushing fire and sizzling metal was constant in the blazing forges. Elves and men ran around grabbing weapons and pulling on armour. Drills kept going on, and they ate quickly and enough to keep their strengths for a long time- mostly on lembas that the elves baked in acres.

Elrond looked out ahead and thought that even this was not enough. They also had to deal not only with the Dunlendings in Middle-Earth, but also the large armies of Harad and Rhûn. The odds were stacked vastly on them, even without counting the King's Men and their colossal armada. They had to be everywhere at once, but they were not strong enough to take them on without a united front. He groaned.

Estela- oh, even she couldn't save them this time.

He had to rely on something else, she said. She told him to use his magic.

Galadriel must have told her that, Elrond thought sourly. Typical. The Lady of Light had always assumed that his magic was as powerful as hers. Melian might have been his ancestress but even that was not enough. He shook his head angrily. What in Arda was he _supposed_ to do?

Not every problem could be solved by using magic!

But Estela had said there was no need to use such powerful magic, just his brains and imagination.

To beat an enemy, she told him, the key was not how much power one held, or how much force one used, just being sneaky, finding out weaknesses, picking them apart and exploiting them in ingenious and imaginative ways was enough.

He just had to keep his wits sharpened. Miraculously Erenion had not even asked him how he knew this- he assumed Ereinion thought it was his gift of Sight, but that gift was young and thus unpredictable at this stage. He needed a few more centuries to hone it perfectly, and to mould it to good use.

Speaking of Ereinion...

Elrond looked over in the courtyard as he was instructing the captains of provisions and where to send scout and troops ahead. Ereinion was busy drilling his soldiers.

One question hit his mind:

_What happened to him in the woods?_

* * *

The Easterlings were moving quicker than anticipated- no surprises- they were swift horsemen and the Haradrim relied on their Mûmakil which can move great distances but they needed a great deal of food, water and rest before great journeys and battles- even though they were hardy and strong.

No, Estela decided they would deal with the Easterlings first, in the meantime, Tulcano would go and help the High King Gil-Galad with the Dunlending's threat- and hopefully the Northmen would come to their aid as well.

As for the Wood-Elves- she dared to hope other divisions under her friends would be able to help them- keeping watch at all times and intervening when they must.

That wasn't even counting the Númenórean fleet.

The Easterlings had to be dealt first. The King's Men were powerful at sea.

That was dangerous for everyone else, due to their strength.

* * *

The Éothéod were horse-lords, much like some of the Easterling tribes, and they would become the ancestors of the Rohirrim. But at that point they were small in number compared to the threat against them.

They looked worried and as they donned armour and fed, watered and saddled their horses, anxiety ran rampant though they tried to keep it under control.

It was doing them little good.

Ælfnoð was their Lord and he kept his emotions carefully hidden. Other Northmen had been besieged by Dunlendings and the King's Men of Númenor but thye had stood strong, and they still had to.

They received warning from mysterious elven scouts- and even though they did not want to believe it- and who trusted strangers after all- Easterling banners, artifacts shown by the elf, and after being shown various camping sites and slain Easterling scouts, they could not deny it. Gil-Galad the High King had sent out word as well.

The Dunlending attacks had become more frequent and Ælfnoð still saw the thatched roofs of houses and cottages burning, the sound of women and children screaming as they were cut down, and farmers yelling as they tried to defend themselves and their families. Many people had died, a number of them still in the flush of youth.

And now the Easterlings were coming.

The elf that arrived to warn them mysteriously disappeared when Gil-Galad's messenger came, and so he deduced that the elf- although he was telling the truth- was not among Gil-Galad's Noldorin host. He had little time to think about it however. He asked for aid and the messenger pursed his lips, looked worried, but promised to do whatever he could before leaving.

Soon one of his captains left with his Éored to scout ahead and anticipate where the Easterlings were headed and where they would attack. The plan was to go for a surprise attack.

It would fail.

The captain and his Éored returned with two ragged-looking Easterlings who claimed to have been deserters about to be executed. He said that the two had claimed that the Easterling hordes were heading to them near the Anduin River in the Rhovanion. Although there had been proof, and it was said that the Easterlings would not arrive for a while, so the Éothéod would be able to trap them.

The Dunlendings were still down south, ravaging everything in their wake.

An extremely uneasy Ælfnoð forced himself to quell his unease and his nerves, even though he felt that something worse was going to come, listening to the Council of Lords was necessary for the Lord of the Éothéod to do so and to act upon their advice, especially if it was unanimous. And to take them by surprise was a good plan- not bad at all.

So why did he feel so uneasy- even more than other battles the seasoned leader had fought in?

Because there _was _a trap- and it was for them instead.

* * *

_**Yikes! I actually found the name of ****Ælfnoð on a website- it's Anglo-Saxon/Old English in origin, like other Rohirric names, interestingly enough it means 'Bold/Daring Elf.' The Anglo-Saxons did hold the myths and legends of elves in high esteem it seems judging by the number of names with 'elf' in their meanings. **_

_**A confession here- I am not experienced with writing romance! So I don't know how it goes, what Ereinion/Gil-Galad is supposed to act and say- Estela I admit, does not yet know if it truly was reality or a dream I don't think she can face the truth if it **_**was**_** reality. As for her feeling something just yet, remember this is someone who had lost everyone or nearly everyone, in such horrible painful ways, and although she can command a great deal of respect and loyalty, even affection and fondness from others, she is far from the little cheerful and loving elfling that she was before she left Valinor. The sorrow, pain and suffering of so many centuries has been hammered deep within her and she appears to have forgotten how to love- as for loving in a romantic way- that is something she has to **_**learn- _I don't imagine her parents would have sat down with her and had a good enlightening chat about boys when she was growing up during the War of Wrath- they would have concentrated on keeping her alive, teaching her to fight and forgetting what they would have told her had they remained in Valinor. She's also stayed away from many people for such a long time it's hard for her to open up and trust save to a select few- her followers, family and friends. So please be patient with us all!_  
**


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

The Éothéod knew they were in a trap when the Dunlendings appeared out of nowhere.

In truth, they were a few miles south of where they were told the Easterlings had camped.

Riding calmly, they tried on keeping themselves hidden as much as possible, and very quiet, but of course it was a trap to begin with. The 'deserters' were in fact spies.

Ælfnoð halted and pulled his reins when he realised they were in a bottle-neck- in a dry valley surrounded by cliffs too smooth with little handholds for any man to scale on either side, and it was a tunnel valley, he thought in shock. It was too narrow for large things such as men on horseback and they were too closed in together. It did not matter how large their forces were and how dangerous men on horseback could be in battle. If there was not much room, wholescale armies could be slaughtered.

Only too late did he remember that not _all _Easterlings were horse-riders such as the ones they had encountered, that were like the Éothéod.

Only too late did anyone remember that they were superb with crossbows and ordinary bows.

Only too late did they realise that they were excellent military strategists and tacticians

Two men in black with black face-cloths covering them wearing exotic brass armour sprung upwards on the cliffs near the furthest end. Then slowly, which gave the horse-lords much room to fearfully realise what was happening, more and more men in black face-cloths and brass armour sprung up crossbows and ordinary bows in hand and arrows pointing towards them.

The Éothéod froze.

One of the Easterling commanders raised a hand slowly into the air, before pulling his fingers inwards into a fist and pushing it downwards.

The arrows loosened and started to fly.

* * *

Estela knew they were in trouble.

She rode as fast as she could.

Riding hard, she urged her horse on in Quenya and it moved like lightning it seemed. Her elf-ears could already hear the screams of men and those of horses and they were sliced and cut by the arrows of the Easterling warriors. She had no time to waste.

Technically speaking the other Northmen were occupied- and her divisions of forces had just come to their aid.

It was up to her now.

But her ears could hear faster and further than her horse could ride. After all, the sounds she heard were merely the echoes in a tunnel valley.

* * *

"Pull back!" Ælfnoð screamed at his commanders and the rest of his men. "We must pull back!"

The men on horses, despite finding it difficult to ride in retreat quickly in such an enclosed space and with arrows firing upon them no less, by some miracle, managed to do it. It was made especially hard as the fallen bodies of their comrades and their horses lay strewn across the ground thickly.

The horses reared as arrows pierced upon many of them. Some men were killed not by arrows, but by the weight of their own mounts.

After pulling back sufficiently, Ælfnoð knew they had to find some high ground to get to the Easterlings. His men raised their shields, but the shields of horse-lords were not too big as they were needed for mobility while riding. So although the men raised their round shields, a few arrows still managed to pierce the men who cried out just as hit their targets.

Ælfnoð screamed at his men to spread out, now they had sufficient space, and get to high ground, to the Easterlings. Leave their horses if they must, riding was useless here- the Easterlings had drawn them into a place of their own choosing.

Worse yet, the Éothéod were divided- not all of their forces were there. The plan- clever but not when one was fooled- was to send out separate divisions or Éoreds, on horseback, and they would meet again when they ambushed the Easterlings at their supposed camp.

Clearly sending out spies to fool them was a thing of genius.

The Easterlings kept showering arrows at them, and one in particular was aiming his at Ælfnoð. But before he could aim, he let out a sound of surprise as an arrow of another kind potruded from his chest, actually piercing through his brass gorget on his chest. He cried out and slumped, falling forwards below.

More arrows were fired, but not by Easterlings. The Éothéod froze as they saw the Easterling warriors being killed and figures dressed in beautifully detailed but practical armour sprang out of nowhere and started slicing the Easterling warriors with their blades, while their bodies fell down below. The Easterlings reacted in alarm but they had little time to react and turn upon the new arrivals as the elves- that was what they were started killing them. All of them uniformly and smoothly dispatching them to Mandos, as beautifully as their style of fighting could be. The Easterlings panicked and a number tried to attack them in rage, but the elves just kept felling them.

One among them stood out.

Ælfnoð watched with wide eyes as a maiden in armour, sliced through the Easterlings with such elegance and grace it seemed more beautiful than a dance. Her sword flashed like lightning with the sheen of stars and even Ælfnoð and his most hardened of warriors had their hearts pierced by the loveliness and grace of the way she saved them. She could move and bend herself in ways no human could, and her reach and speed seemed without equal as was her strength. Her facewas hidden by her helm, but the armour, detailed and moulded as it was, revealed she was a maiden. She swung her sword and then they saw she had another- she was fighting with two blades, something they had never seen before. She spun her swords and spun herself around, catching a warrior behind her back before anyone knew what happened, striking him at his heart. She pulled her sword out, then turned her attention back to her previous front where more warriors were either trying to kill her or were retreating in fear, parrying another's sword blow. Her other sword stabbed him.

She seemed so light, like she was dancing, they would later tell their children. At one point an Easterling a small distance away fired an arrow at her, she brought her sword up and the arrow head met with the metal and it spun around and came flying back to the archer who subsequently was shot. It was truly a thing of beauty, they thought, even though killing was as ugly as could be. It appeared as if she were in complete control of her own environment, never mind that in a battle, it never was so. There was no flamboyance or exaggerations of any kind as was in dance, it was true and natural grace, as beautiful as could be, perfect, even poise and strength and speed. She seemed to absorb the shock and strength of her opponents blows easier than a sword.

But they had no more time to watch.

Men burst through the clearing, and these were Dunlendings. Their faces from where they could be seen were matted with grime and soot, their teeth were stained and their heads and lower faces were covered with dirty, stiff and unruly hair and they resembled brooms or brushes from the top looking down. They carried pitchforks and torches, crude battle-axes, but they were still deadly foes. They also had torches.

The Éothéod thankfully reacted in time and manged to cut down the first wave of Dunlendings. Regaining their strength and confidence helped and soon the Easterlings had either all been killed or fled. At this point all the elves including the shieldmaiden could jump down to assist the horse-lords.

With this the elves attacked with renewed ferocity and the Dunlendings screamed as they were slaughtered. A few fled, but most of them stayed because they were not cowards.

And then it was over.

The few Dunlendings left realised they needed to retreat and fled. The shieldmaiden raised a hand and the elven archers shot their arrows and felled most, if not all of their foes. It was over quicker than it began.

The humans, panting and gasping for breath turned awed gazes to the elven warriors- in particular the maiden. She took off her helm.

Her hair was the colour of pure burnished copper, much richer and more vivid in hue than any colour he had ever seen- it was not the ginger he saw in some folk and it was shot through with something that looked like pure gold and silver.

But when they saw her face many of them dropped their weapons and their jaws dropped too.

She was magnificent- beautiful, more than anything many had seen.

Her skin was creamy and pale but her cheeks were flushed dawn-pink and her face was beautifully and delicately shaped with a delicately cut jaw and chin. Her cheekbones were fine and elegant, smooth and high, and her nose was delicately pointed and small, tapered to a sharp edge. Her rich hair escaped from its knot and framed her face. She smiled at them, many feeling further breathless.

Some of the horse-lords had never felt so pathetic when she smiled, her rosebud lips were hard not to focus on and her armour was moulded perfectly to her voluptuous yet slender figure. It was very distracting and at least the few women warriors they had heard of actually dressed as male ones in disguise.

Estela walked over to them, barely noting they looked thunderstruck. "The Greenwood elves will be here soon enough," she informed them with a musical voice. "I have no doubt that King Oropher will wish to know what happened, especially if it occurred so near to his borders." She looked at Ælfnoð in the eye. He struggled not to gawk or swallow as she fixed those vivid emerald almond eyes at him. "Do you have any wounded?"

"Several," Ælfnoð managed to say. "We have several wounded." she nodded. "We have medics, and supplies we can share. But we cannot stay long. We are needed elsewhere and the Woodland elves will be here soon enough anyway."

Several medics ran forwards and rushed to examine for any that might still be breathing. Others went to their packs and shared out rations and blankets.

Ælfnoð realised he was still staring. He swallowed. "I am sorry, if I may ask..." he trailed off helplessly.

Estela turned towards him. "I cannot tell you who we are," she said quietly. "We do not come from the Woodland realms and we are not a part of Lindon's elves. But please trust we are here to help."

Then something surged deep inside her, something powerful like a wave, a need, a beckoning of some kind, causing her to grasp her blade tighter. She did not understand it and did not even have time or space to think as a voice of some kind whispered deep inside. _Your name, tell him your name..._

"Estela," she said. "My name is Estela."

This was the first time in centuries she had ever spoken her name to anyone who was not a follower, a friend or kin and she almost gasped, clutching her sword, delicate fingers pressing down on the hilt it almost hurt.

It was as if something turned upside down within her and she felt as if her fate had changed.

Or maybe something turned the right way up.

It was magic, that which made her do it, the same kind, she must have thought, as the magic that carried her out into the night and led her to the black-haired elf who watched her with wide sapphire eyes.

Ælfnoð did not seem to notice what she felt and bowed deeply. "Then my lady, we cannot thank you enough for saving us," he said. "Do not thank us," Estela replied, suddenly feeling shocked and very afraid the way she had never been in battle. 'You are still in danger yet. You must inform King Oropher and his elves about what has transpired here- and inform them that the Dunlendings are on the side of the Númenóreans called the King's Men, and that they are ravaging Middle-Earth to weaken us while the King's Men prepare for their assault and invasion, sailing as we speak. They will arrive in the Bay of Belfalas. The Haradrim are moving from the South and it is much slower for them, but must be dealt with soon. Please inform him, and your lords that you must all form an alliance with the rest of the Free Peoples of Middle-Earth- or else you shall all fall."

Ælfnoð stood frozen as did his men. Estela looked at them with warning in her eyes. "You are all in grave danger," she said. "You have no time to lose. not unless you wish to be killed, exiled or enslaved."

* * *

Oropher was not in the Greenwood at this time, nor was he making his way towards where the Éothéod were.

No, Oropher was riding towards Lindon.

Why in the in the world would the king of the Wood-Elves make his way to the capital of the High Elves upon Middle-Earth?

The pretext was that he needed to meet with Gil-Galad to discuss a possible alliance to deal with the oncoming threat of Númenor- no longer an ally.

The actual reason that Oropher personally came, instead of sending an envoy was to find out the truth.

After riding over great distances, Oropher at last arrived in the palace of the king. He could not help but stop and marvel. One could say what one willed about the _Golodhrim_, but they did know their arts, and craftsmanship. The Wood-Elves themselves have always needed other elves or dwarves to trade them goods such as weapons like swords and spears and jewellery. The Noldor or _Golodhrim_ clearly did not feel the same need.

Asking on the whereabouts of Gil-Galad, the High King's herald, Elrond Half-Elven founder of Imladris admitted that the High King had currently gone to review and train his troops, but wold be back soon enough. to make up for the absence, the Woodland king was immediately assigned a suite of rooms fit for a king and a chance to refresh himself from the long journey. He declined, although his companions accepted. He had something he needed to do.

Oropher however, had other requests. He asked to go to their library and meet with one of their scholars.

Elrond raised an eyebrow but was too polite to ask anything. He promised to call upon one of his own trusted scholars and personally escorted the king to the library.

The library was impressive- countless books and scrolls piled as high as could be in cases of all shapes and lengths filled with shelves and holes and the artistic decorations were yet again, tasteful and impressive. But Oropher stood there in shock. Where would he start?

Of course, he knew exactly what he needed to find out. The identity of the copper-haired shieldmaiden that had saved them numerous times yet refused to make an appearance to form a permanent alliance.

And he had a very strong idea on where to look.

The scholar arrived soon enough, bowing deeply and introducing himself as Erestor, councillor to Elrond, among other things. "What do you wish me to help you with, my king?" he asked.

Oropher took a deep breath. No need to drop the pretense straight away- take it slowly- no one should suspect, prospective ally or no.

"I wish to learn about the House of Finwë." he said.

Erestor's face went into utter surprise, if not shock, but then he quickly composed his features into pleasant neutrality. "Of course my king," he said. "But I admit to being confused, after all, I am certain there are many lores written about the Royal House including the events of the War of Wrath..." he trailed off.

"Yes," Oropher said, willing himself to sound patient. "But I already know what there is about the War of Wrath- I would like to know about the members of the House, in specific, rather than the general overview given by our scholars. After all, I know that the well-known names of most of the Noldorin were given by the Sindar, and that there are members that have been left out because they were not overly active during the War of Wrath- neither did they cause events to go into motion during that time period." he held his breath.

Erestor blinked once, but quickly smothered his remaining confusion and browsed through the shelves. He returned with a scroll, which upon unfurling, Oropher saw, was a family tree of the House of Finwë .

The name Finwë was in large, ornate print, and was connected by two horizontal lines each indicating marriage. One line on the left connected him with the name Míriel Serindë and another to the names' right connected to the name Indis. The line connecting Finwë to Míriel Serindë was connected to a vertical line connecting it to the name Fëanáro or Curufinwë Fëanáro. The Noldor, he had been told, had a father-name, a mother-name, possibly a nickname or _epessë _along with a name which spoke of whose child they were. It was highly confusing. But he knew this was Fëanor.

The line connecting the king's name to Indis the Fair, niece of Ingwë High King of the Elves, had four names attached to it indicating four children, not the two as most elves on Middle-Earth believed. There were two daughters, he realised. And apparently Nolofinwë or Fingolfin had another son.

Oropher frowned. He now realised that the stories he believed, about the House of Finwë being bigger than it was said to have been, was in actual fact, true.

"What happened to them?" he asked pointing to the names Findis and Irien Lalwendë and the name Arakáno- Finwë's two daughters by Indis and Fingolfin's youngest son. Erestor frowned.

"Findis never left Valinor, it is presumed she left to return to Valmar, City of the Maiar and the Vanyarin elves with her mother. Irien Lalwendë went with Fingolfin but was either slain or went missing. Her fate is unknown." he paused. "Arakáno or Argon was slain during the Battle of Lammoth not long after they arrived in Middle-Earth- he managed to kill an orc commanding officer but was slain himself."

Oropher frowned. This was valiant but never recorded in the Sindarin archives. It was always believed that Aredhel was Fingolfin's youngest child as well as his only daughter. But looking back, he thought that despite the fact she appeared largely inactive in comparison to her brothers in the fight against Morgoth, she was remembered because of her famous end- by betrayal- and by the fact that she was the mother of Maeglin the traitor.

He frowned. Maeglin's name wasn't on the family tree- unsurprising because they would be ashamed, but neither was the rest of his generation, including Eärendil the Mariner, nor his sons Elrond and Elros. He was confused.

When he asked the question to the scholar, Erestor's reply was that it was a general overview of the House of Finwë and that if wanted something more specific, he only needed to ask. Oropher took another deep breath.

"I wish to learn about the House of Fëanor."

Erestor went into shock. What was the woodland king doing? He went to another scroll and unfurled it. Inside the emblem of the eight-pointed star showed itself and the name Curufinwë Fëanáro was connected to the name Nerdanel and on their their sons and spouses.

"Curufinwë Fëanáro or Fëanor was the eldest son of Finwë," Erestor explained. "And the only child of his first spouse Míriel Serindë. I believe you know the story of his birth and of Míriel Serindë's demise my king?" Oropher nodded. "His wife was Nerdanel called 'the Wise' because she was not only skilled but patient and prudent. She was a sculptress who made statues of such life-like quality that they were often mistaken for reality until people saw that they were, in fact, still."

"She had red hair didn't she?" Oropher asked, daring himself. Erestor looked baffled. "yes, my king, she did. She inherited it from Mahtan her father. He was a smith who taught Fëanor prior to him leaving to the Halls of Aulë."

It seemed surreal, fantastical and utterly magical that any earthly being should live in such close proximity to the Valar and the Maiar, Oropher thought, as to actually _learn _from them. Why in the world did Fëanor even _want _to leave?

Of course Oropher would have known about the red-hair of some of the Fëanorions, he had lived, a long time ago, in Doriath, so he must have seen them at a distance, Erestor thought, but then again, Maedhros did not arrive until _after _the city was sacked and most of them had fled.

It did not explain why Oropher's eyes moved downwards to scan the Fëanorions- the Sons of Fëanor. He noticed the king's ice-blue eyes move downwards and trail among the names of the spouses. "They were married?" he asked, not daring to move.

Erestor nodded. "Yes, in Valinor, the Eldar often married in their youth. Of course the twin sons of Fëanor were too young, but the rest, save for Celegorm did- although he married rather late."

Now it was Oropher's turn to be confused. "I thought he was infatuated with Lúthien?" he started. Erestor shrugged. "Whatever madness occurred there, thankfully passed." Elves of course, had only one actual love in their lives, save Finwë and Finduilas, but it did not mean that infatuations could not occur before marriage, although they lacked the true depth of actual love, understanding, and so forth.

Oropher shook himself out of it. Gil-Galad would be back anytime soon. "And who did they marry?" he asked. "A variety of persons," Erestor said. "Maedhros and Maglor married Telerin, Celegorm's wife is unknown, Caranthir's was Noldorin and so was Curufin's." Oropher was once again shocked. "They married _Teler_?" he asked jaw dropping, uncharacteristically.

Erestor gave a sad smile. "Maedhros married a Telerin princess," he said. "she was the granddaughter of Olwë and therefore the grandniece of Elu Thingol. Maglor's wife was a lady of the Telerin court."

If the Woodland king had been holding something, he would have dropped it. "_How_?" he whispered.

Erestor shook his head. "What people know mostly about Fëanor is mostly his works and during the events of the War of Wrath- very few have documented him during the days of his childhood, his youth, his marriage and his relation to his sons. Very little is given. After all what interest save for his accomplishments and his involvement in avenging his father did anyone give?" he asked. "But in actuality, it was known by the Eldar of Valinor that prior to the kinslaying in Alqualondë, Fëanor and his sons were on excellent terms with the Teleri and their royal family." Oropher looked disbelieving, thunderstruck. "In fact Fëanor actually designed and supervised the building of Alqualondë and the other cities of the Teleri. He was an unbelievable architect and craftsperson, naturally they wanted him to do the job. So when the two sons of Fëanor fell in love and were betrothed, no one objected- in fact the opposite happened and people were overjoyed."

Oropher could not have been more stunned than if Manwë and Varda themselves appeared into the room juggling stars. _What in Arda..._

Erestor looked at the king sadly. "I know this was hard to believe," he said. "But the Fëanor that was after Melkor was released and the one that was before, were so different, that people actually believed them to be different persons, even those of his family. Yes, there was the tension between himself, Fingolfin and Indis, but nothing truly worthy of note happened until after the release of the Dark Lord."

Oropher shook his head. It was as if everything he had known and been taught had been shaken and turned upside down- which would be truly an upheaval as the lessons he had learned and his experiences were what made him who he was.

It was almost impossible to believe and yet...

Remembering at the paintings of Alqualondë done by those that came from Valinor, Oropher could however, despite the differences in design, materials and layout, see the work of Noldorin minds and hands everywhere. The Telerin peoples prided themselves in shipbuilding and sea-faring, but they would have not have had their magnificent Harbour City had the Noldor not stepped in- and of course that included only the most gifted- Fëanor.

Still thunderstruck to the core, Oropher tried to get his thoughts in order. "And the grandchildren?" he asked. "Did Fëanor have any grandchildren?" he asked.

Erestor once again looked astounded. "Grandchildren?" he echoed. "Not that we know of- not that which has left Valinor from what I have been told," he said. "No records of any grandchildren of Fëanor have survived- or rather none known to those outside of Valinor. If there were, it is doubtful that they even took part in the War of Wrath, but even those that had contact with the Sons of Fëanor said that there were no children."

Hope crushed through him like fog is crushed during the heat of the midday sun. Who then, was this shieldmaiden? He had been so certain- well, almost? Who was she? How could they find her?

And most importantly, how could they convince her to join forces with and save them?

* * *

_**Phew! The inspiration for the Battle in the Tunnel Valley was provided for by written accounts of the Battle Of Kadesh- although I didn't exactly stick completely to what happened. Oropher now has his suspicions- which are crushed by Erestor- now we know it's not true- there **_**are _grandchildren of Fëanor, and Estela and Celebrimbor/Telerinquar are two of them, but they have been keeping a low profile courtesy first of their parents, then by Estela. But now the Wood-Elf views on _****_**_Fëanor have been shaken in Oropher, much to his shock. These guys might not be so bad after all. _** _**


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

"My King!" Elrond hurried into the private audience room. "The king of Greenwood is here!"

Ereinion looked up startled. He was dressed in armour, not for a battle but for scouting- there was even armour beneath his clothing.

"He is here?" he exclaimed incredulously. "Without warning, without announcement?"

Elrond sighed. "He arrived while you were still on patrol. He is now waiting for you in your private office- as you've instructed me should a guest of great importance arrive and needs to meet with you."

Ereinion nodded mutely and proceeded to his private office- there was no time to change- he had already kept Oropher waiting long enough.

The king of Greenwood was wearing travelling grab in forest green, so Ereinion noted there was no need to fear causing offence. The Wood-Elf looked up when Ereinion arrived and the two exchanged formal greetings.

"What brings you all the way to Lindon?" Ereinion asked.

Oropher looked up at him and raised his eyebrow above the glass of wine the High King had offered him.

"I think you know full well the answer to that question," he said. "I heard things outside of our forest are rather tense."

Now it was Ereinion's turn to arch an eyebrow. "What makes you say that it won't spread to the Greenwood?"

"I didn't say that," the woodland king noted mildly. "When you are surrounded by war, one has to pick a side. And I doubt very much that the King's Men are interested in dealing with elves."

Ereinion _hmmphed_ in agreemement.

"I think you realise that a compromise is in order," Oropher said slowly, his frost-blue eyes firmly fixed on the High King. Gil-Galad, Oropher noted to himself, did not so much as flinch- he merely watched him emotionless and cool- impressive, even Oropher's hardened warriors would have cringed to find they were the sole focus of their king's attention, but this elf had faced far, _far_ worse before.

"I can't pretend that relations between our peoples have always been on the best of terms," Oropher said slowly. "As a rule, elves don't generally discriminate the same ways some humans, I've been told, look down on peoples with a different skin colour or culture other than their own."

That was true, Ereinion thought. He had never really delved that deep into human culture save for the Númenóreans, but he knew, although barely and it made little sense, that humans did have a tendency to look down upon each other- as if it made them feel better. Ereinion for one, could not see how it made them fel better instead of worse.

"But, of course, relations have been tense. I've grown to respect you, yet I can't pretend that your people have been fortunate compared to mine in some ways, more talented, and yet they have been looked upon as higher, even amongst themselves," he said slowly. Ereinion looked grim and nodded. "Elu Thingol's people and the Nandorin elves may have chosen to stay upon Middle-Earth, but it does not mean that we were foolish, undeserving of good treatment or respect in anyway- not that I accuse you of ever doing such things."

Ereinion looked even grimmer than before. This was something he was all too aware of. Just because some elves never undertook the Great Journey or never made it into Valinor, others that did, including the Noldor that arrived during the War of Wrath, scorned them. It was admittedly something shameful and it had _not _endeared the Noldor to the Avari, Sindar or Nandorin elves. Prideful demands, sometimes even insults were traded- first by one group then another, so despite attempts to mend such grievances it most certainly did not go too well. Not to mention the kinslayings, first in the city of Alqualondë, realm of the Falmari- kin to the Sindar- and then later at the Sacking of Doriath and later in the Havens of Sirion. The fact that some mortals were now saying that the Wood-Elves were less wise and more dangerous than their Valinorean kin certainly did not improve relations, but merely strained them further.

Ereinion had never set eyes on the silmarils, but he found that no matter how impressive the object, it would never be worth the number of lives lost on either side. His mind strayed back to a young girl whom he had started to think- without realising it- more frequently than before.

The image of a small girl with bouncing red curls branded itself deep in his mind- he had never managed to approach her, or even meet her by way of introduction, he had been uncharacteristically shy then. He remembered just watching her dance and frolic around but forced himself back to the present.

"No," he said, before the train of thought led him to think of the copper-haired shieldmaiden whom he _strongly _suspected might be Estela Nelyafinwiel. "And I cannot pretend that it was shameful on our part. Even though too much damage has been done. But can you honestly say that those who did not even lift a finger during the kinslayings, nor breathed a single word of insult, are as guilty as the rest of us?" he asked emotionless.

Oropher sighed. "No." Ereinion inclined his head and took a sip from a glass of wine. "Finwë and Elu Thingol were friends once- close as brothers. And you might not believe it but Fëanor and his sons were once on amazing terms with the Teleri and Vanyar elves. They weren't always kinslayers."

"So I've been told," Oropher looked highly uncomfortable to say the least and he ran his fingers through his silvery hair. Ereinion remembered too late that Oropher had once lived in Doriath. He cursed himself mentally. What was he thinking?

But before Ereinion could actually apologize, despite opening his mouth, Oropher said, "It's strange but I did not see the eldest sons of Fëanor during the attack on Doriath."

Ereinion startled again straightened. "What?" he blurted, puzzled.

His brow furrowing, Oropher said, "It was written during our accounts that the remaining Sons of Fëanor were present during the Sacking of Doriath, and I did see some of them in the distance, but no one with vivid copper hair the way Maedros' hair was mentioned to be." He looked strangely at Ereinion who found himself at a loss for words. Where was this coming to?

Just then a sharp knock resounded in the room. Elrond stepped in his face grave.

"My kings, " he announced. "I bring news- grave and well."

Ereinion stiffened. "Yes?" he asked.

"The Éothéod- the horse-lords of the Northmen who live near the River Anduin were being attacked by Easterlings. When they set out to confront their foes, however, it turned out to be a trap and they would have died were it not for the shieldmaiden and those that followed her. Acting upon her advice they have sought out to ally themselves with you," he said motioning his head towards Gil-Galad. "And hopefully if you should choose to join my king, with you as well," he said nodding his head respectfully towards Oropher. "The Easterlings are being dealt with as we speak by the shieldmaiden, if they have not already been dealt with."

Awed and relieved Ereinion sat back in his chair, and he still managed to be amazed, although he believed he should have seen it coming. Oropher looked stunned and equally relieved. But Elrond was not finished. "However, she also sends us bad news. It appears that the Haradrim have arrived much sooner than we anticipated. They are heading towards the City of Perlargir."

"The City of the Faithful," Ereinion whispered. "Ready our forces: tell them to pack as much as they can, without being a burden, and to nourish and rest their horses. We leave for battle tomorrow." he commanded. Elrond nodded and left the room.

Only then did Ereinion remember what Oropher had just said. "Every Noldorin elf knows that Nelyafinwë Maitimo Fëanorion or Maedhros the Tall had copper hair," Ereinion said slowly putting down his wine glass. "He inherited it from his mother's family. So did his twin brothers who died very young before their maturity. I was not aware that there are many Sindarin and Silvan records kept that preserved their portraits nor of any that had descriptions of such kinds. There must have been very little."

"There are some," Oropher shrugged. "After all, it is unusual for elves to have such a hair colour, save for the colour of fallen leaves and that is not actually copper. But I admit I've grown interested in the Noldor of late," he took a sip from his glass. Oropher found it unnecessary to pretend to Gil-Galad anymore.

Ereinion leaned forwards."The shieldmaiden?" he asked, attempting to slow his heart in its excitement.

"Yes," Oropher admitted. "We have been trying to search her out for some time now, to discuss the possibility of an alliance."

"And did you?" Ereinion questioned not breathing.

"Yes, we found her," Oropher admitted. Ereinion could barely breathe, his heart overtaking all previous rates it had had, in excitement. His eyes were wide- massive in fact, his hand on the glass was slightly trembling and he found difficulty breathing.

"And?" he asked.

"She refused," Oropher said flatly. "Although I cannot imagine why- she was not adverse to helping us," he told the whole story to the High King.

Ereinion leaned back and rubbed his face in his hand. _What did she mean? _he thought desperately. He voiced the question to Oropher but he found that he was answering it himself.

The way she insisted on keeping to themselves- the way that she said their own _kin _had cost them dearly, but not enough to kill them. The way her hair was so much like burnished copper, streaked with gold and silver strands...

She could have been a survivor of the kinslayings, but if so, she would not have kept to herself, so long after the War of the Jewels. Her hair...

He remembered she had been beautiful- the most magnificent creature, he thought. He did not assess her features for he was far too entranced by her, but he saw a similar face shape in portraits of the Noldorin royal family- particularly in portraits of...

And there was her _hair. _Not the colour of autumn leaves or ginger, but just like Oropher said, it was _copper. _Purest copper. And from what he saw when he had seen her- he could not deny it was her- it was shot through with gold and silver strands. Gold- a Vanyarin colour, but present in Tyelcormo or Celegorm the Fair, one of the Sons of Fëanor. Silver- that was a Telerin colour...

Silver...

His mind flew back over an age ago when he had last seen the whole family in Tirion, the palace of the king. There was a tiny girl with vivid copper-hued hair and she was being swung upwards and spun around by her extremely tall father who also had copper hair...

And then passed to her mother who fed her and had hair of such brilliant, luminous woven silver that it was almost blinding although not garish. It was utterly lustrous.

As lustrous as the strands in her daughter's hair- small and grown.

The maiden was tall- guaranteed she wasn't as tall as Maedhros, nor was she that intimidating- her bones seemed fine, delicate even, but she was somewhat the height of the Lady Galadriel, they were both incredibly tall- taller than humans, as tall as male elves.

No suspicion could be considered correct until unshakeable proof is given, but Ereinion already knew the truth in his heart. The question was, did the Woodland king know too?

And if those suspicions were confirmed out loud, how would the wood-elves- or the rest of the elves as a whole- react? Would they rather die than accept an alliance with a Fëanorian?

* * *

Dawn saw Ereinion riding with his warriors towards Perlargir, city of the _Elendili_.

Estela had ridden further than ever when she heard that the Hardarim had arrived. But it had taken time, especially as she had been busy dealing with the remainder of the Easterling forces already in the Rhovanion and make solid plans to prevent other armies from arriving from that direction.

After causing havoc to the Easterlings, she had instructed, at a distance, her followers to do the same to the Dunlendings, and aggressively at that. The Dunlendings would then face open aggression once they encountered the Fëanorians, and then using tactics and strategies she had discussed with them, the Dunlendings would have to be forced into a retreat back to their hills. The Haradrim were the real problems now, along with the fleet of the King's Men.

Problems arose for Estela when she had heard the news of the Haradrim's march northward. This was certainly not good.

Fearfully she hurried. It was harder than normal with all the furious, raging Dunlendings causing as much havoc as they could amongst the Northmen- whom she'd had to assist and convince to join with Gil-Galad and the _Elendili. _

The Easterlings were hard, but thank Eru, they were not as challenging as she had first thought, Estela remembered. Telperinquar had promised his division's assistance once they met at Perlargir. And it was at Umbar where the King's Men held power, would Estela deal with, before she could get to the city of the Faithful. Tulcano, her cousin would meet her there.

Sometimes she wondered what it would be like- to have some peace, to rest. But she knew any chance of a life like that was gone long ago. But soon she came across a village raided by Dunlendings.

The Dunlendings she saw held torches this time, they set fire to the thatched roofs of houses and cut down their inhabitants with pitchforks- of all things- and axes. She almost cringed when she heard them scream- she doubted they would spare even the children- and if they did it would only be for slavery.

Estela reacted swiftly, springing off her horse and slicing one Dunlending after another. Her division followed and swiftly, the Dunlendings were dealt with while she signalled others to put out the flames- there was a creek nearby. Once it was over, the survivors looked breathless and Estela quickly gave them instructions to gather as much supplies as possible without being a burden- they needed to leave the are and go north.

One of the old women gasped and fell at her feet. Estela helped her up. She was startled at how _thin _and _fragile _the woman felt- her bones, her flesh, everything. She had helped older humans before, but it never ceased to make her cringe inwardly. Judging by what she had learned about the aging of the human race, this woman had to be at the age, where elves would just be beginning to mature physically. Yet this woman was growing weary.

"Thank-thank you..." she gasped. "Hush," Estela said, she pulled out a flask of water and helped it to the old woman's mouth. She drank as deeply as she could. The old woman raised her eyes towards Estela and they widened.

"So it's true," the old woman mused in wonderment. "The Fair Folk would arrive to save us... Led by a creature of such great beauty- with hair brighter than a flame..." she trailed off.

Estela forced herself not to flush. It was unnecessary. "Please," she said, she turned towards the rest of the survivors. "Is anyone else injured?" Some had cuts and broken bones but they could be treated, she had medics.

Estela moved to rise, but the old woman, who was now lying on some blankets clutched at her hand. "My lady," she rasped. "Please, there is great danger. The king of the island that rose from the sea... the island shall sink one day, soon enough."

Estela felt her breath catch. "You mean _Númenor_?"

The old woman nodded and clung tighter to her. "The king that is yet to be... The child... there is one who escaped." she rasped.

Estela moved slowly, heart pounding even harder than right after the fight. "Escaped from what?" she asked slowly, barely moving.

The old woman's eyes met hers- they were blue, not as vivid as elven colours, but bright enough, with something she did not expect- some sort of focus, some wisdom, some determination, she did not know.

"Escaped from the wrath of the Guardians of this world- the guardians the Creator gave us," she whispered. "Escaped from the elves that fought against them, escaped from when the Iron Fortress fell."

_Iron Fortress?_ Estela thought confused. Then the answer slammed unwelcome into her. _Angband! _

And the Guardians of this world was no doubt the Valar.

"Five there were," the old woman rasped. "Five slaves to the one who stole your grandfather's stars."

Estela felt ice flood through her. "What are you talking about?"

The old woman chuckled then clutched at her throat and chest. After wincing she looked back up to Estela. "I know whose child you are," she smiled. "I know of the war that your fathers fought against the Dark One- the enemy of this world. I know of the Oath your grandfather and father took. An oath that never bound you, that you never followed. But I know also the Hope the Masters of Spirits promised... The Fëanturi- the guardians of souls- they said that you would be _hope._"

Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled and it started to rain. They were in hastily built shelters, much to the relief of the villagers. Yet Estela took no notice, gazing at the woman's feverishly bright eyes. She restrained the urge to shiver- not from cold, but from the power that came from this woman that she knew nothing of.

"One of them has escaped. The Great Slave, the one who tricked your father," she hissed. "The others are slain- the giant spider whom you saw in the courtyard ere your forefather's death... consumed herself she has, in her eternal greed. The great fiery one, impaled by a spike and drowned during the Fall of the Hidden City... The blood-drinker and the demon wolf- dead... all dead... Save one."

Lightning flashed again and a cold ice flooded through Estela like as such she had never felt before... No, it could not be... _no..._

But this woman knew her identity. She knew who she was. And she was not mad.

The War of Wrath was never truly over. This much she had known. In all her years since she had left Valinor, Estela had never found peace. What little joy she could have came from rescuing the lives of others. But to know this... To know that one escaped...

How many servants?

Morgoth had the balrogs- Gothmog was truly dead, killed by Ecthelion in the fountain in Gondolin. Dragluin the Werewolf and Thuringwethil the Vampire were dead- Dragluin slain by the Hound her uncle had, and Thuringwethil too. But there was another... One they called the trickster... What was his name?!

She nearly screamed in frustration. There was another... Someone who had evaded the Valar before... Not just during the fall of Angband, but Utumno, Morgoth's first fortress. Someone who had been a lieutenant... Someone that had served Morgoth so well, yet kept to the shadows.

Someone who had been one of the Fallen Ainur.

They spoke of a lieutenant. But before Estela could delve into the memories, the old woman pulled her down again with surprising strength and looked deep into her eyes.

"Listen child and listen well," she rasped. Estela barely noted the strangeness of this mortal woman calling her- who had been born during the Age of the Trees and lived for over an Age- a child. "He will come- and he desires many things. The House of your fathers, both Dark Ones hated more than anything. The elves they hated above all else, the line of your fathers- more than any other elf. They seek to destroy you- to infect you... Perhaps _he _will spare you for his amusement. But trust no one that claims to bring gifts. No worldly gift comes without a price. If you do not remember anything else I say, remember _that_."

Thunder rumbled. Estela found herself gazing deeper into the woman's eyes as memories drifted by. Memories of a walled city... quenching of the light, a courtyards, and a giant bloated shape...

The old woman tightened her grip- if that was even possible. "Seek out the one you saw," she whispered. "The one with the blue eyes, like sapphires. The one that saw you where others could not..."

Estela paled further. "That was a dream."

The old woman scoffed. "No dream I tell you. Hide no more, one more deed is enough to convince the others of your goodness and strength, the next time, they will not be adverse. Find him, and remember, look to your children, for if the House of your fathers shall fall, so shall _he _triumph and the world shall plunge into a terrible darkness once more."

_Children?_ Estela thought bewildered. What_ children_? But she could not ask the woman to explain herself because Maltariel, her friend had come up from behind her.

"My lady," she said. "We need to leave, we have done as you instructed. Help will come to these villagers soon enough, we have made sure of it- we also have enough supplies for them."

Mutely, Estela nodded and she turned back to the old woman... to find her gone. She had vanished. Estela's eyes searched wildly around her, but she could find no trace of the old woman.

She might not have been mortal after all.

Heart still beating loudly Estela stood and took a deep breath. She then heard the old woman's voice, _From the sea it came and so to the sea it shall return... But not you, our Hope. You shall endure even as you lose hope yourself, still you give others... The line might not be cursed..._

_If you so wish it, our Hope. _


	16. Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

Estela told Maltariel all that had happened- that a woman predicted the downfall of Númenor. The _elleth _was astounded, no doubt about that.

"She ia just a human," Maltariel said. "How can she- it must have been her injuries, her weariness. We all know their race is vulnerable to such things."

Even more so than the dwarves, Estela thought. Then she shook her head. "Maltariel, she _knew who I am_," she said.

Maltariel could have been hit by something heavy judging by the look on her face. "What?" she gasped turning pale.

Estela nodded looking grim. "She didn't tell anyone, so have no fear. But she did advise me to stop being so mysterious, unseen and secretive. She told me something which I have of late, been telling everyone we have rescued- to join forces with the elven High King Gil-Galad and the other rulers of the elven realms. She laughed harshly. As if they would ever have anything to do with me.

The bitterness in her voice was impossible to mistake. But then Estela heard, _an act of courage- which means to stand apart from others in willingness to do what is right, no matter the cost, separates good from ill… _

She did not know whose voice it was, but she thought it might have come from the old woman, if she _was _what she appeared. But Estela knew she had no choice.

_Beware the ones who bring gifts without price- for they are naught but lies, and all must pay. _

"Morgoth had another servant," she said finally.

"Huh?" the half-Vanyarin _elleth _asked.

Estela looked into the flames her face impassive but hard, like a knife or a diamond. "There was a shape-shifter, a creator of terrible, terrifying phantoms and foul beasts. The most cunning of all of Morgoth's creatures, a master of Dark Sorcery, and the creator. My father never spoke his name, but I believe he was the most feared of all Morgoth's servants. A fallen Maia."

Estela kept staring hard at the flickering fire before them. They were camped out in the woods.

"Who was this fallen Ainu?" Maltariel whispered.

Estela said, "He had many names,"

They stood frozen before-

"He was a shape-shifter a being of shadows, thus he could take and discard his names as he did his forms." she said so quietly that Maltariel almost couldn't hear her. "He was a maker of such foul creatures, and if I had to guess, I believe him to be the one who gave the twisted idea to Morgoth on how to deal with Túrin Turambar. Not just the foul dragon. And if I am to be believed he was the one who captured and trapped my father and led him to Morgoth in chains."

A flash of images ran flew through her mind, just as when the old woman spoke of the giant bloated creature in the courtyard. The Thangorodrim, the Great Eagle flying into the elf chained onto the rocks with a rider on its back... She had never actually seen that but she had heard every detail when no one thought she was listening.

She closed her eyes to think. More flashes ran behind her eyelids and Estela found herself being carried back to the past. To Valinor.

To Formenos.

It had been a hot summer day, even though the weather was typically fine in Aman it was even brighter than normal. Little Estela sat brow wrinkling and lips pursing as she struggled to remember and figure out why all of a sudden she was _here _and not _there._

It was dreadful the days after the festival. the little girl felt like she was holding her breath waiting for what she didn't know, but something bad... Something even worse, she thought, but comparable to being hit by her grandfather's forge hammer.

She remembered the hushed voices, the looks of upset worn by everyone. Everything was kept hushed up. She remembered perfectly well when the 'visitor' came- the one that grandfather had told her to run from- straight to her room as fast as she could.

She remembered grandfather coming back inside once the visitor left and the little girl knew he would never be the same.

She remembered how he would stand very still sometimes, and how when someone spoke to him after that, or interrupted him during his 'spells' the light in his eyes would grow fierce, and his face twisted into a snarl like he was Huan, her uncle's hound, when he was angry and wanted to bite- except that Huan rarely ever did do such a thing, and never looked so ferocious. Her grandfather who spun her in the air and bounced her on his knee now seemed to have some strange light in his eyes, unlike the one he had before and he was aggressive and terrifying to anyone. He also started to believe that people were attempting to hurt him and to take his items.

He had a habit of standing very still.

It was that visitor, Estela was sure of it. That visitor whom her grandfather had told her to run from, to hide in her room and lock her door against.

Everyone walked around in crowds, as if scared to wonder off by themselves. They looked scared and no one went out at night, she wasn't even allowed to sleep beneath the stars anymore like she used to from time to time. No one waved at each other, or smiled and laughed. No one even dared to speak too loudly.

And then the whispers grew furious, and her grandfather grew even more furious, so much that Estela often hid whenever she heard him talking- or arguing. She often came out though and tried to comfort him. He seemed to relax, to smile, to be happy, if only for a little bit. But it never lasted.

Then one morning her mother woke her. Gently shaking her awake, she selected clothes and helped her dress. She was wearing travelling clothes, sturdy, warm, but cool enough, and riding boots. Her mother then picked her up and went outside the house. They stood there, waiting. Her grandfather had his face turned away, and her uncles and aunts were there, her forefather the king too, but not his wife the queen. Where had she gone? And not her granduncles either.

And yet the king was coming, dressed as a traveller. Her mother handed her to her father who held her close and together they rode all the way to Formenos.

She had always loved the place, had always been happy there. But this time it was different; again she was never allowed to go to play outside and everyone was constantly watching her. At times, however, she would often dance and sing and act out plays she had composed herself with her cousins, and everyone would smile and her grandfather's features would soften- but again it would never last.

And then the little girl would wonder what else she had missed out. They weren't there to enjoy themselves anymore.

But before she could wonder further a shadow loomed ahead. The little girl looked up, thinking it might have been a huge cloud, but there was nothing.

She frowned. Maybe the cloud had passed, and then looked back down only to discover that the sky wasn't getting lighter like it used to. In fact it was getting darker- much darker. Startled she looked up again, and found that it was still darkening and indeed _not _her imagination as she had thought. Eventually it went black.

She jolted. No, it couldn't be. It was the middle of the day, and Laurelin was shining so brightly. And if Laurelin did not shine, Telperion always would.

Yet neither the gold of Laurelin nor the silver of Telperion shone through the black colour of the sky. No longer blue and cloudless, but utterly dark.

The sky grew darker, and then before she could move or do anything something hit her.

A great and terrible dark power slammed into her, hitting her with more force than a shockwave. It pulled at her and rooted her to the spot, and she saw the red of pain along with the black colour of the newly-darkened surroundings, sucking her energy, pulling at her most painfully. She almost couldn't breathe.

The more she tried to move the more it pulled at her, the power tugging her so painfully, it increased with every movement attempted. She couldn't open her mouth to scream. And if she tried, no sound would have come out anyway.

Thunderous footsteps echoed in the silence of the atmosphere. She moved her eyes- the only thing she could do. She would have screamed if she could

A gigantic bloated shape, so massive in size it was hard to distinguish the dark of the surroundings from its massive, dark form covered all over with bristles, jabbing painfully as if stabbing the air. The legs, which she could see were eight, were so huge they bent upon themselves with their own weight and the weight of the body, covered with the same bristles. The thing turned.

It moved across the courtyard, the footsteps echoing almost deafening in its booming, and Estela saw that as it moved, another shape emerged.

Roughly the shape of an elf, it was, however, gigantic, colossal and vast, gigantic, even more so than the first creature, though not bloated. It towered so high she could not see without moving her head which was impossible at the moment.

The presence slammed into her like an icy cold shock only it was infinitely worse and it delved deeper than anything and lingered. Even centuries later, she refused to think about the _presence, _refused to remember it and relive it, even while she relived so many things.

The tall figure raised a giant fist and at the signal the first creature turned, sickle-shaped, tusk-like pincers opening as it spat out a jet of something black. More darkness even deeper than before engulfed all around her. She could see nothing, not even outlines. Not even the stars of Varda which the elves had woken under and had guided them throughout the great journey- the stars which her father had promised would always be there, could be seen.

There was a silence which was soon broken by the noise of thunderous footsteps, one even deeper than the other making her ears hurt when it rang across to the inside of the palace compound.

Ice flooded through her. She knew where they had gone. Whatever they intended to do she knew that nothing would ever be the same.

There would be no return to their old life, no return to peace. No joy.

Inside someone shouted. _Finw__ë!_ The lone voice ringing strongly across the palace compound demanding to know who enters and what purpose they had. Then the scraping of metal against metal.

But after silence another sound shattered through the silence of the air.

It reverberated so deep, it was deeper than the depths Ulmo knew. Yet it vibrated like a shockwave and was so violently deafening she would have screamed in pain if she could. It echoed, which did not help and then...

She heard booming footsteps again, from both creatures, then the dense cloud of darkness vanished, but so did the creatures.

She felt she could move her feet. She twitched her fingers, flexed her knees. Then when there was no resistance she sprang upwards, heart pounding faster than it ever had been in one of her games and ran inside.

_Finw__ë!_

She did not stop to think when she heard her parents scream her name from outside. She did not stop when she heard Huan barking madly trying to get in and to find her. She didn't hesitate- not when she knew nothing would ever be the same.

When she ran inside she saw that the archway had collapsed. Mounds of rubble crushed as small as dust, and chunks of broken stone with jagged edges blocked her way. She kicked the lightest ones aside and scrambled in on her hands and knees.

Scurrying in, her eyes needed no time to get used to the darkness as she frantically searched scanned the room. What she saw made her heart stop. The outline of an elf splayed on his back, a broken sword at his side. His head was a mass of dark liquid- blood, sinew and bits of white bone. _Finw__ë._

The small girl went and knelt, taking his large hand in her tiny one clinging onto it, silently pleading his already-departed _f__ëa _not to go, as the king of the Noldor, Finwë lay, crushed by Melkor's blow, while his little great-granddaughter pleaded uselessly, tears streaming down her face and eventually became silent.

* * *

The next moments were a blurs of sobs, cries, screams and shouts of dismay.

Her vision blurring, the little child felt herself being lifted, only this time she did not care, being passed from one set of hands to another.

She felt the horses hooves pounding the earth beneath them. She felt the rush of air, and whoever it was- father or mother- holding her close, like a baby, covering her with a cloak and attempting to instill some comfort into her.

She was unaware when they arrived in Valmar, the city of the Maiar and the Vanyarin elves. She was vaguely aware when they were in a hall and screams, wails and sobs echoed around her.

After their return to Tirion, she listened as the whispers grew frantic, the movements hurried, the shouts panicked. She heard the whispers: _War... ___Endórë..._Oath... _What they meant she did not know.

Later she would know all too well.

* * *

Estela opened her eyes into the present, as her golden-haired friend gazed in concern at her. Maltariel, like so many of her companions, had learned not to delve deep into her memories or question her about them. It would only make things worse. Estela was grateful. Maltariel and everyone else she knew did not need to possess the knowledge that she had seen Ungoliant and Melkor up close. Or when Finwë died. There were some things that can never be forgotten.

Tomorrow she would face reality. Tomorrow they go to Perlargir.

It was time to fight.

* * *

_A few days later..._

Ereinion looked out over the plain. They were at Perlargir.

The shieldmaiden, he had heard was a creature of tremendous resourcefulness and cunning, so much he could admire. She had, as he had heard, not only saved the horse-lords, but also destroyed the remnants of the Easterling armies, using various tactics and methods that only only chewed away at their numbers but also drove their minds mad with terror. Then she had forced the Dunlendings into retreat and liberated the Northmen along with her forces whom she had apparently been at a great distance with.

The fleet of the King's Men had been stalled- or rather the surviving ones were. Most were sitting at the bottom of the ocean, thanks to the work of Ossë Master of storms, for which Ereinion was absurdly grateful.

His mind wandered back to the shieldmaiden and his blood boiled even while his heart moved stronger and in a faster tempo. He took a deep breath and swallowed.

There was no doubt that the maiden that made him react this way was the shieldmaiden. The question was how to find her again? His heart beat so traitorously and seemed to quiver as he reminded himself that he was not finding her for _himself _but for the sake of everyone else who needed her.

Somehow, despite the constant repeating of that, he found himself unable to be convinced.

In the meantime they would meet the Haradrim and their giant _mûmakil _would arrive in Perlagir soon enough.

And when the Númenóreans came, the King's Men would have their due.

* * *

_**Oh boy, I'm sorry, I actually wrote this out more than once- the first time it was deleted accidentally when the computer moved onto a new page without my consent- for some reason- and I had to write this again- and I don't think it's as good as the first time. So please tell me what you think- is it bad-does it need improvement?  
**_

_**Yes, I think we all have a case of dramatic irony as we know **_**exactly**_** who the old woman- if she **_**was _that- was talking about- if you've read everything that is- and yes I suspect he might have had something to do with the Children of _****_**Húrin's demise, not just Glaurung the Dragon and Morgoth- after all**_ he _was said to be even more cunning in some ways_._ Sadly the war was never over for Estela. Hopefully the suspense is building up in time for Gil-Galad and Estela's next meeting. _  
**


	17. Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

Ereinion stood overlooking the fields outside Perlargir- the city of the Faithful in Middle Earth.

He knew they were in trouble.

The majority if the Easterling Armies were decimated and forced into retreat yet somehow the Haradrim had managed to increase their speed- well their gigantic beasts of burden would have helped to cross great distances in such a short time, yet he knew their weaknesses- on all accounts their mûmakil needed a great deal of food and water before and during their journeys. Yet without the help of the Éothéod and the other Northmen, they would have had fewer numbers at their disposal than Ereinion would have expected.

Ereinion began to count the men and elves assembled, even though he had already done it a few times, to stop his mind from wandering _there_\- the reason the Northmen including the Horse-lords came to their aid.

He couldn't stop. He had to go on. Never get distracted- any soldier, even the most foolish, knew what distractions could cost. And it was especially dangerous now.

Never had Ereinion Gil-Galad been distracted before a battle. He had always thought things over with a level-headed thoughtfulness that had served him ad his elves, exceedingly well, and saved many a life.

He could not afford to fall back now.

He clenched his teeth and felt his fists tighten next to his sides. Taking several breaths and trying to steady his heart rate yet again, Ereinion barely registered the arrival of another elf.

Thranduil Prince of Greenwood stood there watching him. Ereinion turned and offered him a weary smile. "Greetings, Prince Thranduil." He said as calmly as he could. "To what do I owe the honour?"

"The honour is all mine," Prince Thranduil countered. "My father was in Lindon lately, I've been told."

"That is correct," Ereinion said warily not knowing where the conversation would lead them.

"And he has discussed with you the possibility of an alliance with our people?"

"Yes, that is also true," Ereinion confirmed, brow furrowing slightly.

Thranduil gave a rueful smile, looking possibly sheepish at the same time. "If things were not so dire, I would have very much preferred to stay within our borders," he said. "I do not approve of meddling in the affairs of others- but if it threatens us as well, it appears we have no choice," he gave a slight smile.

"I met her," he said suddenly.

Ereinion bolted inside and could not supress the rush, like cold fire, that flowed through his veins. "Who?" he asked breathlessly.

"The shieldmaiden," Thranduil said, shrugging, as if it were a matter of fact. "My father ordered me to seek her out to make an alliance- she refused, although she promised to come to our aid should we need it." He tilted his head. "What kind of a person would promise something without expecting payment- something in return? After all, an alliance would mean we would be there to aid her as well, should she need it." His ice-blue eyes glittered. "Yet she refused. It made me wonder who she was."

Ereinion stood stock-still. _If_ she was who he thought she was, he wasn't going to give it away to this Woodland Elf. Thranduil had been born in Doriath, before his father founded the realm of Greenwood.

Few Wood-Elves would take kindly to the daughter and niece of Fëanorions. Not to mention the granddaughter of the most controversial elf of all (not counting Eöl and Maeglin). And although they were not inclined to prejudice as a rule… He still could not help but wonder if these Wood-Elves would rather their forest burn than accept help from a Fëanorian.

Forcing a smile, Ereinion said, "Perhaps she will be true to her word- in fact, she does not strike me as the type to break her word." Neither was her grandfather, if she really was who he thought. "So will you fight with us?" he asked. "Will you help us repel the Haradrim?"

"It seems we have little choice," Thranduil said dryly shaking his head. "Yes, if we must. And the Númenóreans too when the time comes."

Ereinion turned his head over the horizon.

"They will be here soon enough," was all he said.

* * *

Estela blinked. She and Telperinquar stood overlooking the sea in their mountain fortress.

Human eyes couldn't see. Human ears couldn't hear. But elves could.

Estela heard the waves moving unsteadily as if being pounded. She heard the disturbances in the sea. For once she forgot the natural longing she had to take a ship and to sail west, towards home, instead focusing on the disturbances she sensed in the waves- _ships_.

Strong ships- large and sturdy, built for war, not trade and travel. Ships groaning and creaking against the might of the waves and the weight of the men, horses and weapons they would have hoarded. They would have not brought supplies to beyond the length of the sea voyage, she reflected. In their arrogance the King's Men expected their newly conquered territories and vassals to supply food for them, if they did not raid for them.

Her lips twitched and Estela daughter of Maedhros the Tall, one of the few undefeated warriors ever known, thought of how presumptuous and arrogant the Númenóreans had become. Far from the great men of the west the way Elros, her father and brother's fosterling and Elrond's twin had desired, and her heart ached for him. He felt their were greatness in the race of Men, he saw so much potential. _Look at them now,_ she thought bitterly. _Look at us all._

"We still have time," Telperinquar said. "We can deal with the Haradrim first."

"Yes," she agreed softly. "Their ships are heavy. Filled not just with the weight of men, horses and arms, but also pride. They may have brought little supplies with them, save for the voyage, but they have great ships, strong, sturdy but heavy- much too large to launch the surprise attack they have intended.

Earlier on she had made certain that the Easterlings had not been able to send a message to the King's Men, warning them of the attacks that had destroyed most of them and forced them to retreat- Estela and her kin of course.

So Ar-Gimilzôr was unable to catch them unawares as he had planned. Yet in his arrogance, she believed he would keep on going anyway.

Estela closed her eyes and breathed deeply.

"I must go to Perlargir." she told her cousin. "Send out word to me when the fleet gets too close, I'll take a sizeable number of our forces, but not the whole of them. We will need our strength when we face the ships of Númenor."

Telperinquar nodded. Estela left the battlements where they had stood watching the sea and readied herself, steeling inwardly for a battle by the likes of which she had so dreaded- an open battle with an open enemy, and a large one at that.

The storm was about to hit and she knew it.

* * *

The Haradrim came and in great numbers- or rather they were made even more formidable by the size of their Mûmakil, whose grey skin, thicker than steel, though not as a dragon's hide, had been war-painted with red. Their six tusks gleamed brightly the ivory was adorned with spikes and Ereinion knew most people ad a sinking feeling about this, even though for now, they were camped and still far enough for the humans not to panic.

Ereinion recalled, with a sinking feeling, how he just knew before they even left Lindon, that due to the Haradrim and the few Easterling allies deciding to attack Perlargir, they had chosen the grounds on which they fought to their advantage. The plains outside Perlargir were flat. Flat and large enough to hold a few Mûmakil, not to mention the Easterling's cavalry.

And they were there for a particular purpose. They were large enough to view the elves and men like ants were viewed by _them_, but they weren't there to crush the alliance between the Faithful and the elves. No, even if the Haradrim did not know, the King's Men would have. Elves could easily take down a Mûmak well enough, but these had another purpose in the battle to come. With their colossal tusks and the spikes attached, the Mûmakil were meant to crash into the lines as fast as they could come, leaving little time for the elves, despite their speed, to take them down. Then crashing into the thangail, the Númenórean shield-wall, or phalanx formation, as well as the elves ones and the infantry. This would create gaps of course, that would be used to the advantages of the Easterling cavalry and their own infantry. They would destroy them in little time.

Ereinion had read the reports given by Elrond. How the _peredhel _had managed to obtain the information was a baffling mystery to the High King. But he trusted Elrond, despite not knowing the source. Elrond was one of the few he would never question or doubt. And the reports stated that apart from the Mûmakil and cavalry, they had ten-thousand infantry and the same number of spear-men, followed by thirty-thousand soldiers on foot. That was the numbers of their opposing force. In contrast Ereinion's Noldorin and their allies- _Elendili, _Northmen and Wood-Elves- numbered to forty-thousand on foot and seven-thousand riders.

This was a bad place for a fight but they had been too late. Ereinion realised that they had been distracted by the attacks made by Easterling survivors that did not return with the majority of their armies and the Dunlendings. They had had a major attack that slowed their way from Lindon. Imladris had been besieged, not that it was in danger of invasion, but their troops had been isolated and Ereinion and his forces had had to fix the problem before the Imladris elves could join them. Time enough for the Haradrim and their few Easterling allies to advance to Perlargir.

Now the cavalry of the Easterlings was on their left wing ready to charge first so that the defenders would have to fight through masses of men on horseback. On their right were troops on foot and one-hundred men on Mûmakil. The loud trumpeting deafened them.

Their side had thangails and shield-walls and phalanx as the bulk of their armies soldiers that grouped together for stronger, sturdier advantage. If their shields did not keep the worst out, their spears and long-swords would as the first few lines held those in front whereas behind spears were held to deflect whatever was thrown at them. They had cavalry to their advantage. So Ereinion was soothed at least.

And so he fitfully went to sleep after spending many an hour at the meeting tent. Unhappily he closed his eyes. Normally he was not such a bag of nerves. He had never before been nervous, not even before battle.

His dreams were turbulent.

_Two elves embraced. On a dry hill a lone rider on a stallion held a banner aloft. The elves separated- one was slim and black-haired, but was lean, strong and healthy with a magnetic presence. The other had an equally magnificent and charismatic presence, and was even taller than the first. His hair, unlike the black or the gold of most of their house, was red, like burnished copper. He was magnificent in more ways than just one and all eyes were naturally drawn to him. But one thing marred him, and that was the absence of his right hand; cut off during his rescue after his time of torment. _

_A long distance away, a little girl crouched in the bushes. Elf-children were rare and thus most- elves and men alike, go their entire lives without ever seeing one, even if they knew grown elves. Her hair was a vibrant copper like her father and Ereinion saw that they were shot through with gold and silver. Her eyes were emerald. _

_The scene changed and he saw himself next to Tar-Minastir. The King of __Númenor__. It was a peaceful and glorious time, long before Númenor's decay into madness._

_The king's hair blew in the wind and his grey eyes were sharp. "He comes," was all he said. "Whoever this menace is, this _phantom_, we shall defeat him. Our fathers had dealt with Morgoth. We shall never suffer his likes again."_

_The wind swirled and high above his banner flapped. A banner with stars. _

Stars.

_He saw a star up close, it had eight points. _

Eight.

_The image of the shieldmaiden came again, dressed in flimsy golden gauze that bared the creamy flawlessness of her skin. Her burnished copper hair, shot with silver and gold was thick and curling slightly, billowing about as she gracefully defeated her opponents. The movements, like not even water and wind, seemed to catch the beating of his heart and made it move in time with her dance of death. Her tiny bare feet danced. And Ereinion saw the darkness gathering around her, reaching to grab her. He wanted to cry out; to warn her, to rush forwards and grab her out of harm's way. For he knew it was the mysterious phantom he and Tar-Minastir had fought. But his vision changed._

_He saw his father sparring in the courtyard with a tall copper-haired elf. The elf moved without flamboyance, did not show off as dancers did, but there was more grace, more beauty, elegance and precision in his movements than Ereinion had ever seen in any elf's, despite missing a hand. _

_And they became transparent and he saw the maiden on a dry hill, holding a banner. He saw not the banner but he saw _her._ A radiant light filled itself around her, forcing the darkness swirling around her at bay. The maiden turned towards her and he saw her face and eyes._

_A more beautiful face never existed. Not even Lúthien had burned with such radiance, such fire in her _fëa_. Nor did she exude such strength despite such the most delicate finely-shaped form. Not to him. Her hair, brighter than Arda's fires billowed in strands from her helm and framed her face. Her eyes were richer than emeralds. _

Estela.

Ereinion woke gasping. Outside he heard one of his soldiers preparing to wake him. Ereinion slid his feet off the bed and buried his face with his hands. His heart echoed in his head and his blood burned despite the possible consequences.

It was her. Estela. There was no doubt now. This dream had been sent by the Valar- by the All-Father. It had to be. The memories- his suspicions- there can be no more doubt.

It was _her_. His Estela.

_His_? When had he ever referred to anyone as his? When had she ever been his?

His blood burned but Ereinion could not possibly...He could never...

Can he? Was it possible?

Was-

But before he could continue his line of thought. Elrond's voice appeared outside his tent flap. "My king?" he called out. Ereinion was startled out of this line of thought.

"Yes," He called out.

Elrond stepped in. "The Haradrim are starting to advance. The humans have seen them."

Shaken by the after-effects of his dreams and starting to process the news Elrond had just brought to him, Ereinion decided to act upon what his natural instincts would normally be.

"Prepare for battle," was all he said. He went to put on his armour. "Send out word. If the other leaders do not yet know, they must be told. Rouse the troops." Elrond nodded and left the tent.

After he had left. Ereinion sagged and gasping, grabbed the tent canvas to keep himself from falling. This was not normal. He could not even focus. He could not face the facts- the logic of his dreams and on the battle ahead. This was not normal.

And yet he had never felt more alive.

* * *

Estela rode faster than she had ever ridden. Then she halted. She took a deep breath. She might as well tell them of her support- all of them.

"Fëapoldon," she called to one of her friends. He brought his grey mare beside hers. "Yes, my lady?" he asked. Her horse skittered nervously, as if sensing her hesitation.

"Ride forwards to Elrond Half-Elven Lord of Imladris," she said. Her friends did not know who her friends and sources were inside the courts of Lindon, Lothlórien and Númenor. It was better for as little ears to find out least word spread. "Tell him the Shieldmaiden offers her help here."

Alarm spread through Fëapoldon's face, but Maltariel's surprisingly bore an expression of pride. She knew the messenger was an Ainu. She knew Estela, no matter what had happened to her, will never disobey one of the Guardians of Arda nor the Ilúvatar.

"In the Battle of Perlargir and in the invasions to come." Estela said firmly. She would reveal her real identity, but not just before they accepted, she had helped them, and not before they trusted her. It would jeopardize everything.

"I would consult with all of you in this, but the decision of the All-Father is final," she said. "A messenger spoke to me. Now I have hope." She turned to him again. "Please go out ahead. I will not reveal myself and yourselves just yet. Not before we've helped them and not before they trust me."

In this Fëapoldon nodded. He swallowed, he looked incredulous, but he had never doubted her- her sanity, her courage, her truthfulness or her ingenuity. And he would not do so now, especially not with Maltariel's look directed towards him that confirmed everything. He rode forwards.

Elrond was incredulous. Was she mad? Why was she risking everything- _everything_\- her life, her reputation, by revealing herself? This was threatening. What if they did not trust her? What if they, as she had preciously pointed, preferred to die than have her save her? Why this sudden change of heart.

But Fëapoldon shrugged.

Elrond went to Gil-Galad, his own mind reeling.

"What?!" the High King said.

They all stared at him. Oropher, his son Thranduil, Amdir of Lothlórien, The Northmen including the Éothéod, the _Elendili_. Elrond took a deep breath, for once doubting Estela's sanity after so many centuries of pain, sorrow and heartbreak the likes of which he had never imagined.

"Where is she?" Amdir demanded. Celeborn looked demandingly at Elrond, clearly desiring an explanation later. Galadriel closed her eyes. "The time is almost near," she whispered.

Everyone turned towards her, knowing her to be one of the most gifted of beings and possessing the Gift of Sight.

"A Darkness is upon us," she said. "The darkness within Númenor is but a minor threat compared to what comes after," she whispered. "And this Shieldmaiden will help save us from the fires of Utumno, unleashed again through Middle-Earth. If she falls, if her direct line falls, so will Arda descend into darkness once more."

The silent drums of horror echoed at her words. A greater threat than the King's Men? Utumno- Morgoth's work again? What did this mean? What hope did they have?

They did not doubt her power.

"From the ashes of pain, and from the sins of the fathers will she emerge," Galadriel continued. "Into purity the Valar have sent us this one gift- Ilúvatar's gift. _Hope._"

She opened her eyes and turned towards them. "Do not turn away this gift," she said harshly. And a change went upon her and they all sensed it, even if they did not see it, she was no longer the regal, calm and composed elf-lady they had known. "She has been given by the All-Father amidst suffering and pain." Then they saw it. Great power emanated from the lady as she spread her arms. White and green light until she seemed almost as terrible and great as Ulmo when he rose from the depths. "Accept her or accept the Doom, this is the warning you have been given."

And they drew breath and the Lady of the Light lowered her arms and the light faded, she stood there gasping.

Ereinion's sapphire eyes turned to Elrond. "Where?" he choked upon the words. He was almost trembling himself. Elrond looked aghast. What in Arda was going on? "Where is she?!"

Elrond swallowed. "Outside in the woods," he managed to say. "She's there."

_Oh Valar, what have we done?_

* * *

Ereinion tried to breathe deeply. He was in a sweat and his pulse was uneven. His hands trembled and gripped the leather harness of his horse tightly. His guards looked more than nervous- fearful even.

Not in the thousands or hundred's of years they had known him had they seen their king like this,

Ereinion's blue eyes shot towards the trees. He swallowed. A golden-haired maiden stood at the base of an oak. She was dressed in armour, but this was not that maiden?

"The Shieldmaiden?" Someone asked. She stepped back and held out her arm in announcement. From behind a tree, on a grey-white horse, a maiden emerged, straight and proud, her noble bearing accentuating her graceful, lithe figure, svelte yet voluptuous. In beautifully forged and moulded armour, decorated but not overly-ornate, her head was covered by a helm which she wore like a crown. Her head turned and they could see her face within.

It was pale as alabaster and absolutely flawless in complexion, so much so it glowed radiantly, even though elves naturally reflected starlight on their persons, this _elleth _appeared not to have needed it. Her cheekbones were fine and high, her nose dainty, tapered and jawline exquisite and delicate. Her eyes were almond, with long black lashes, thick and silky-soft, liquid and emerald.

This was her. Ereinion's heart stopped before proceeding to thud harder and faster.

He rode forwards, not really realising he was doing so.

On his black stallion, he was a still as a statue. His heart thudded and he rode closer. His sapphire eyes made contact with Estela's emerald ones. They widened.

A rush like electricity on water tingled on Estela's skin and in her blood. She started, though not visibly, a rush which drummed _her _own heart like mad. Her arms trembled but she kept it hidden.

Ereinion Gil-Galad made contact with her eyes at last.

And his spirit latched on to hers and he wasn't going to let go.

_Never. _

* * *

**_Really sorry for the _HORRIBLY LONG WAIT_! It's been really busy for me and I've been going crazy. Tar-Minastir was the King of __Númenor whom Gil-Galad fought alongside with to defeat you-know-who (or perhaps you don't know!) before he re-emerged. Of course I've decided that he didn't know who he was then. As I've said, I'm not experienced with writing romance, I hope it's not too vague or flowery. The Battle of Perlargir will come soon enough but Estela has decided not to reveal her true identity until she has proven herself- on a rather large scale and visibly- to them all. Of course, Gil-Galad has worked out who she is now, and Oropher still suspects- we don't know about Thranduil, but if he and Legolas had a dislike for dwarves in general in the Hobbit, then he might not take kindly to the daughter and granddaughter of Kinslayers. So we'll have to wait but it will come soon enough!_**


	18. Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

A lot of first impressions were flooding through everyone's minds.

The silence was louder than Manwë's thunder.

It spoke volumes of a number of things unsaid, as many as the drops in the ocean, yet was as empty as before the creation of Eä, and through it all the High King of the Noldor stared at the woman whose presence had haunted his dreams, excited his fantasies, tagged at his nerves and caused him to be less than himself, even before battle.

Somehow, he felt as if every puzzle-piece that made up his life were now moving into place.

Estela felt her breath hitch. _The _ellon_ with the sapphire-blue eyes and the midnight hair, _she thought.

_No, it couldn't be. _

It was obvious he was of the highest authority with his regal, admittedly magnificent bearing, his natural presence and powerful charisma. Astride his horse, he stood straight and tall, and he wore armour, immaculately-forged though not gaudy and flamboyant. The golden metal-covered blue layers, were of the finest make, and she noticed the emblem, emblazoned upon his cuirass.

_No…_

Gil-Galad, the High King of the elves and of the Noldor.

Though he stood straight, strong and powerful, Ereinion moved forwards as if in a dream, not once taking his eyes off the maiden- Estela, as if he went to her drawn by some powerful force that belonged elsewhere than from Arda. Perhaps it was the Valar or Ilúvatar Himself.

But he brought himself right in front of her. His horse whickered by her mount and hers snorted in alarm at the close proximity they were in, but everything else was so silent, it was as if the time before the Music of the Ainur.

They stared at each other and everyone else did the same, until Estela recovered her wits and bowed her head in reverence and respect.

"_Ereinion Ñoldóran_," Estela murmured. Ereinion, King of the Noldor. It was the title he inherited from Finwë, their forefather.

Ereinion heard her voice, like nothing he had heard before and felt it stroke him, soothe and sweeten his temperament, so frayed before, and it washed over him, like warm, powerful waves, gentle, stroking him. He had heard the wind whispering through the leaves. He had heard the rushing waters of streams and the waves rocking him to sleep during his stay at the Havens. He heard the sound of birds laughing, singing above. But he hadn't heard her voice before now.

They were connected; even a fool would not doubt that. So Ereinion managed to bow his head in return.

"The Shieldmaiden?" he asked, not breaking his gaze.

Estela broke it however, and he saw uncertainty and maybe even _fear_\- the maiden that was said never to fear _anything_\- flicker through her emerald eyes.

Estela fought not to shiver and shake. Her hands were trembling though. _He knows, _she thought. _He knows me._

He acted like he knew her, with his _look_.

He looked as if he knew everything about her, or at least wanted to. Or if she had something that was hers and hers alone, and that he wanted more than anything; that he was dying to possess.

Estela realised how frighteningly quiet it was, how the only noise, apart from those sentences were the horses. Possibly a bird. She didn't like the silence.

"King Ereinion Gil-Galad," she said. He nodded. "Yes, I am the shieldmaiden. And I have come to offer aid and assistance, should you need more allies in the coming battle. Although," she added. "You seem to have a fair share already."

The leader of the _Elendili _met her gaze. He saluted. The Éothéod lords bowed their heads in respect.

Thranduil son of Oropher looked up. His icy blue eyes widened. Would they now get the answers he longed for? Who was this maiden? What were the meaning of the words she spoke to him when they last met?

Most importantly-could they trust her?

He quickly calculated his options. Firstly, if she wanted to harm them, she already would have. Why waste so much time, especially when one was well-versed in operating in stealth and moving speedily, gaining everyone's trust before stabbing them in the back? It took too much energy and went on for two long.

Secondly, what had she to gain with the victory of the King's Men? She was an elf, like any of them. They would not spare her.

Thirdly, she had nothing to gain from _them. _She asked for nothing, and it would not be likely that they would give her anything in return. Not because they were ungrateful, but because if she required gold, gems and so forth, any kind of metal-work, even weaponry, it would be the duty of the Noldor, as the master smiths and craftsmen to obtain them. But although she was not decked out in jewels and fine silks he did not fail to notice that the craftsmanship on her armour were the best he had ever seen, even among the Noldor. Not even Gil-Galad's armour could compare, it seemed dim next to hers and crudely made. He had never seen anyone so well-outfitted for battle or any other occasion.

Fourthly, she had everything to lose, and she was committing not only herself, but her followers to fighting off the King's Men, just as she had already done. She was risking her life, going into the middle of an encampment of an alliance between Men and Elves, so if she wanted to turn on them, the chances were she would die. But then again, considering her fighting skills… Yet she was also vulnerable to whatever plan the King's Men and their thrice-damned king had for Middle-Earth. So whoever she was, the elven prince, grudgingly admitted to himself, for once, he could actually trust strangers.

Even aid them in return.

Thranduil glanced at his father. Oropher caught his son's gaze at the corner of his eye, and saw Thranduil's tense pose (unnoticeable to the human eye, and even most elves) relax slightly and a twitch at the corners of his mouth. He beckoned his head slightly towards the shieldmaiden, his expression warmer. Well that was unexpected. After all, Thranduil barely trusted anybody, save for those he had known for most of his life, and even then trust was a difficult issue. Oropher moved forwards on his horse as well, followed closely by his son and members of their guard.

Celeborn glanced at Elrond. His gaze was of alarm. There really was no turning back now. Did she know what she was doing? Galadriel remained expressionless and calm, but her blue eyes burned and they fixed with an intensity on the scene before her.

Fate, she knew, was taking a different road than it previously had done. Whether this would mean that

Amdir, King of Lothlórien, not to be outdone, went as well.

Elrond decided to go, to provide support (secretly for Estela) but the look he directed at Celeborn and Galadriel warned them they should stay behind. It would arouse suspicion. The king's herald was enough. They knew enough.

Galadriel sensed the fear and the dread welling up inside Estela. _Have courage, _she told her in her mind. _All will be well. _

She felt Estela relax. But everything would change.

Estela met the gaze of the High King again. Sapphire in its shade, but it would shame them as well. His eye colour were Indis the Fair's, second wife of Finwë, the forefather they shared. His father could really have been Findekáno, judging by the colour of his hair, Artaresto was gold as a Vanya and his wife was silvery in colour. But Findekáno's wife was sapphire-eyed as Indis had been. She was Vanyarin, after all. So naturally Estela for the first time in her life, could not help but ponder the High King's heritage. The fact that Turukáno was his brother's direct successor. And Artaresto was never the High King seemed to boost this idea.

But now was not the time, she reprimanded herself harshly. This may not be something to pry about (she certainly could not ask Gil-Galad) but there was no time to waste.

The High King (whoever's son he was) went forwards and cleared his throat. "Why are you here, my lady?" he asked. "I was under the impression that you did not wish to form an alliance."

Estela expelled the breath she didn't know she was holding. What was she going to say? Some old woman, probably a Maia in disguise, came up to me and told me to find you? Warned me that one of Morgoth's pawns is back?

She simply sighed and said. "Things have happened in a way I did not expect, I must do what I can to protect Middle-Earth." She looked resigned but at the same time determined.

That look reminded Oropher of his feelings on the matter. He would never have sought out the alliance of other elves unless necessary, preferring very much to stay in his Woodland home. She preferred to stay in isolation and secrecy. Whoever she was, they had something in common. He smiled ruefully.

Oropher was reminded on the question of her identity. Now that he had seen the mysterious _elleth_, he saw himself saw what others- including his own son- had said was true: the maiden did indeed have the most vivid copper hair colour shot with gold and silver, it seemed. It wasn't the colour of rust, orange-red, or autumn leaves. It was pure burnished, _copper._ And once again suspicion arose within him as to her identity.

Ereinion met her with a level gaze. He felt much calmer, like he had regained his regal, calm and confident sense of self. Secretly, he was relieved he was no longer feeling, or acting, like some _ellon _barely into maturity. And now he was gazing at her feeling some sort of power and strength rushing through his veins. He did not break his gaze and felt taller, straighter than before.

His sapphire-blue eyes burned into her and Estela fought not to flinch. She simply stood straighter. If he did not think her intentions were true, perhaps he should examine every reason, every aspect of the situation.

Why should she flinch? Had she not faced worse before? Had she not lost everything then committed herself to rebuilding and putting everything back together? It was that thought that prompted her to realise that even if her identity were exposed and she was rejected by them, then it was their loss. They knew they needed her help. They were hopelessly outnumbered, not merely for this coming battle, but for the invasion of the Númenórean fleet, and any more attacks. So she stared him down. Emerald into sapphire.

It was a piercing gaze and sent the rush through his veins again. Ereinion smiled, without realising what he was doing. "Welcome, my lady," his eyes still burned into hers. "My lord," she acknowledged.

He turned towards the audience assembled. Many of the men were sitting on their horses or standing there with their mouths hanging open. The elves were wide-eyed, and the elven leaders looked expectant, hopeful even. Oropher clutched his reins tighter.

"She has come to aid us," Ereinion announced to all assembled. Relief and grins broke out. They were dreading the battle, and knew they had little chance of surviving, until she came along. She nodded formally. The two of them rode side by side to their company. Estela sat straight and tall. This was a different poise to those ladies Ereinion had seen in his life. She wasn't merely raising her head and pulling her shoulders higher like he had seen other women do. She had a power and regality that radiated throughout her entire being and outwards, reaching beyond her and awing those that saw her. She did not need to strike a pose.

Oropher felt like he had had sharp slap to the face. She was _royalty_. No mere shieldmaiden, no matter how proud, strong, courageous and accomplished, had that. It was a power and charisma that went beyond that of many great leaders, male or female, of any race. She was obviously from a line of great kings.

_It cannot be. _

The greatest line of kings of the Eldar, had been the House of Finwë. But Fëanor had no grandchildren, Erestor had said that.

But there were very sparse records of the sons of Fëanor and their father. Next to nothing on their personal lives either, so….

Oropher forced a smile as Gil-Galad came over with the shieldmaiden. He acknowledged her presence with a smile and a nod. Estela did not miss the look in his eyes when she came over. He was scrutinizing her, examining every inch, every aspect. Analysing, trying to figure something out.

There was no time for fear.

"So you have come to aid us," the High King's voice was powerful, charismatic and strong. It wasn't too loud, and it wasn't brassy, deep and rich but not too much. Goodness, was she _impressed _by the High King?

No, she can't be.

"Yes," she answered simply and calmly, not betraying anything.

"May I ask what made you change your mind? After all, we have all heard of your skill and courage in battle-" (_and your looks_, he thought silently to himself) "-but never had you come forwards so openly to aid us."

"Necessities change," Estela said simply. "I would be blind not to see it."

"Indeed," Ereinion said softly. He was not thinking about the danger and the decision she had to make, but of himself and of her.

Suddenly, Estela remembered something.

She did not immerse herself as deeply as she did before, due to the importance of being in the present moment. But she did remember…

"_Estela!" her mother called. _

_Estela got up and toddled to where her Amil and Atar stood. Outside, she could glimpse a couple leaving. There had been laughter, she had heard, from where she had been playing. She didn't know which couple it was; probably her parents' friends, possibly Findekáno and his wife. _

"_Atto, Ammë?" she sang in her lilting voice._

_Her father looked magnificent and majestic but she didn't care even if he looked scruffy and was shorter than anyone else. He grinned at her. _

"_There is someone we want you to meet Little One," her mother murmured. _

"_This is-" she turned sharply. "Where is he?!"_

_Her father spun around. There was no one in the doorway, no sign that just moments before, a young boy, roughly the same age as Estela, had stood there. Estela's confusion was mirrored in her parents' faces. Just who did they want her to meet? _

_However, when they went searching out in the front garden, she could have sworn she had spied a pair of sapphire-blue eyes, peering out from the hedges, spying at her, gazing and their stare without breaking._

But many people had blue eyes, she thought as she greeted Oropher, King of Greenwood, formally, head bowed, placing a delicate hand over her heart.

She avoided looking at Elrond's and Celeborn's faces. Fëapoldon hovered closely and protectively near her.

"Welcome, my lady," Oropher said. His eyes were unreadable but had _something _there alright. "We are honoured by your presence."

Ereinion could have cursed himself for not saying the proper courteous words. He had forgotten.

"And I will be honoured if you will accept my help." She looked at Oropher, Amdir and Gil-Galad when she said it.

"Your help would be as welcome as though the Ainur have sent you themselves," Ereinion said earnestly.

"Indeed," Amdir chimed in.

Oropher said nothing but his gaze was fixed onto Estela's.

"Then I shall strive to do the best I can," Estela said.

"May I enquire as to your name, my lady?" Ereinion said. "We have only ever heard of you as the shieldmaiden."

Estela paused. "My name is Estela," she said after a while. She would follow the instructions of the old woman, apparently an Ainu.

"Hope," Thranduil smiled. "How very fitting."

"Estela," Ereinion said slowly.

* * *

_Estela Nelyafinwiel gazed at the horizon. Ereinion stared at her behind the bushes. Her hair was rich and more beautiful, he decided, than the Mingling of the Lights, or the sea she was gazing at. Her skin was creamy and pale in contrast. _

_Beside her Cousin Itarillë stood next to her, as did another girl, with a strong Vanyarin blood, by the looks of her, like him. _

"_See the horizon," she breathed. "Out there, they say that on Tol Eressëa, you can glimpse the Outer Lands. Not that I'm interested," she said offhandedly. _

"_Why not?" The third girl asked. "I'd want to go- to see what lies beyond."_

"_Why?" Itarillë asked. "So we can get eaten by orcs?"_

"_Or kidnapped?" Estela asked mischievously. "Or frozen to death? Or crushed by rocks? Starve? Get scared?"_

_She mimicked a growl she had heard from Huan, her uncle's hound, no doubt about that, and then jumped up roaring._

"_Estela!" Itarillë shrieked. The two girls squealed and jumped shrieking with laughter, as the copper-haired one chased them around. After a while, they started to chase her as well, the two gold-haired ones. But she was too fast for them, always dancing out of their reaches, and laughing joyfully to herself. _

_Ereinion watched entranced as the girls played, laughing and crying with joy and excitement at their game. Estela laughed the loudest, her copper hair rippling and waving behind her, the gold, red and silver catching in the light, making the gold light of Laurelin flash back and Telperion's silver seem to bounce. She danced, spinning more gracefully than the ladies of the court. Her hair reflected the light of the Trees and she closed her eyes, sweet serenity seeping into every feature as she danced, swaying with imaginary music, her arms waving gently. Her face had a dreamlike quality and a joy as well as serenity which he had never seen before. She was more like a grown maiden than a child, especially as she moved, swaying like a willow in the breeze. Her rosy lips turned up into a smile as she danced. He couldn't breathe._

_She spun, and the two gold-haired girls had started dancing with her. Yet Ereinion paid them no heed, instead fixing his eyes with a burning intensity on the copper-haired daughter of Nelyafinwë._

_He gazed at her dancing there and wished that she would never stop._

* * *

Ereinion smiled at her. There was something in his eyes now, as he looked upon her. _The times have not changed in that regard, _he thought slyly.

After bringing her entourage into the camp, Estela consulted with Maltariel and Fëapoldon as well as Vorondo. The latter did not look pleased at all. Far from it. Fëapoldon looked apprehensive. But Maltariel, who had been there with Estela and Itarillë or Idril, the day the future High King Ereinion saw them dancing, was positive, and resolute. She was doing the right thing.

"My lady," Vorondo was struggling to keep his temper in check. "We have just exposed ourselves to the awareness of not only the elves of Lindon, but the Woodland realms. Not only them, but their leaders. The _Elendili _were one thing, but the other elves? The Northmen? Was it really necessary? How are we to operate in secret now like we had done for so long?"

Estela raised an eyebrow. "We've fought in open battles before."

Vorondo tsked. "Yes, but this is different!" he exclaimed.

"Why?" Estela went up to him. She cupped his cheek. He nearly started. "I am not afraid. Not anymore. If you fear for yourselves, I swear that I will do whatever it takes, never to expose you. Any of you. What are you so afraid of?"

Vorondo opened his mouth but words escaped him and he was unable to reply.

"I have been given a sign," Estela breathed. "Hopefully it is the Ainur."

"_Hopefully?!" _Vorondo cried.

"Keep your voice down," Fëapoldon hissed.

Vorondo glared at him. Estela sighed. "Vorondo, what is it?" her eyes sharpened. "Something's not right, what's wrong?"

Vorondo couldn't reply.

Estela pursed her lips. She saw that Vorondo for some reason, couldn't tell her, but seemed upset- _afraid_\- of something. Something other than the battle. In fact it was something other than being exposed.

After she had left the tent assigned to her, Vorondo stood there staring, helplessly, his mouth slightly open but no sound coming out. Emotion gleamed in his eyes.

Maltariel stared at him.

"You're in love with her aren't you?"

Vorondo couldn't disagree.

"For how long?" she asked.

Vorondo took a deep, shuddering breath. "Ever since I saw her, pulling me out, and tending to me, when I was weak from the fires of my home."

Maltariel couldn't speak.

"What is wrong?" she asked him, finally managing to regain her voice.

There was silence. Then:

"The High King," Vorondo rasped. "I saw him- the way he was looking at her. I-" he swallowed. "I couldn't…" there were no words to describe.

Maltariel had seen it too. She wondered how Estela could have missed it. The maiden had sharp eyes even for an elf, but was apparently blind to what the look High King directed towards her obviously meant.

Whether it was Gil-Galad or Vorondo, however, she did not even know. She did not know if her friend would accept the High King's advances, should he approach her, after spending so long isolated and concentrating on doing the 'greater good'. Estela, she believed, had long since forgotten how to love properly, in an intimate relationship such as family- despite her closeness to her comrades and their loyalty. As for romantic relationships… Maltariel was certain she had never thought about it, even before she left Valinor. After that she was the daughter, niece and granddaughter of kinslayers as far as the world was concerned. The chances of settling down and having a normal life, even without Morgoth and his minions hunting them, was thin as a string. She was not trusting enough to reveal her identity to the world, let alone any _ellon. _And bringing a child into the world to share her 'cursed' life and burdens… She had never known how to love. Never had been courted by an _ellon_. And had never even thought of it. Her family were more concerned on keeping her alive than with advising her on her future husband, and encouraging her.

As for Vorondo…. Maltariel winced. She knew her friend would never give up so easily. If he had followed and fought for her for centuries, without complaint, as one of the fiercest followers, there was no doubt he would never give her up. The question is, would she accept him, even if she knew how to love? She was completely different from the delightful little elfling that thought the best presents were to receive a hug from her Atar or Amil. That little girl spilled out her heart and opened her arms to any newcomer. Not this Estela.

This was far from good.

* * *

**_Sorry for taking so long and for the amount of inner thoughts here- not that much action I'm afraid! Ugh, I'll do better the next chapter- it's the Battle of Perlargir after all. These are first impressions for many after all. Artaresto is Orodreth, Itarillë is Idril, Findekáno is Fingon and Turukáno, Turgon. __Ñoldóran means 'King of the Noldor'. So Gil-Galad secretly has a rival, and there is also the question of what Estela feels. Even she isn't sure. So what to do? Be warned, it's going to get juicier soon enough!_**


	19. Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen

People were whispering, Estela noted. She was sure they mistrusted her. They were foolish if they trusted easily, so she couldn't fault them. Instead she kept to herself, biding her time until getting the work done.

Vorondo was upset. What it was, it troubled her that he would not open them. But she had told Gil-Galad and the other leaders that they should build a more secure base, complete with trenches and fortifications. When Amdir, king of Lothlórien had protested that it would take too much time with the Haradrim close by, Estela assured him that it would not and started to get busy with Vorondo, Maltariel, Fëapoldon and a number of her companions, while the others stood and kept guard and everyone else watched in amazement as sooner rather than later, a strong, advanced fortification was built that would be difficult if not impossible to impregnate by enemies but easily accessible to those that used it. She had designed it herself and was extremely glad of the work, after all, it kept people from staring at her for simply appearing out of nowhere, as it seemed, and from mistrusting her. Of course no one should trust her fully, but she was confident she could help them a great deal.

A number of scouts, including her most trusted one, named Alwion, hurried away to spy and bring news of the Haradrim's advance. Telperinquar was keeping a close watch on the Númenórean fleet and reporting on their advances every few hours via mirror communication. And soon she had a meeting with the other leaders in Gil-Galad's counsel tent.

She was glad to have done all the activity, she thought again as she entered. After all, it certainly broke the tension- the ice had melted slightly but not completely. She informed them all the news Alwion and Telperinquar had given her and the ones her spies on the Easterlings had provided her. They seem astounded.

"You are extraordinarily well-informed, my lady," Eärendur leader of the _Elendili _said. She smiled at him. "I have my sources and my own ways of gathering information. To know your enemy is to defeat them, whoever and wherever they are."

"Indeed," King Oropher said. His eyes never left hers. It would make her uncomfortable if she was a weaker spirit, she thought. But it seemed as if those eyes could see deep down inside her, right into her very soul.

As if he knew something- a secret that only she knew.

"So," Elrond said. "Shall we proceed?" He gave Estela a look that only she could see and interpret. Once again, it was: _I hope you know what you're doing._

The maps before them pin-pointed the Haradrim's position and the miniature figurines represented everyone who would be in the battle.

"He's being clever," Estela remarked. Gil-Galad and Elrond raised an eyebrow. "Ar-Gimilzôr telling the Haradrim to fight here. He's a brilliant tactician and strategist. The plains outside of Perlargir are flat and expansive. Excellent for the massive Mûmakil, and for horses."

"Which is also excellent for us," Ælfnoð of the Éothéod. They were horse-lords after all.

"Yes," Estela admitted. "But with their giant Mûmakil…" she trailed off. "They have the advantage of brute strength, and they are able to cross great distances in very little time. Which means that to stop them, we would have to target the Mûmakil to stop them- and we have to do it quickly. And they are not easy to stop, especially when they are going in fast. Arrows are meaningless against a giant Mûmak. Spears would have to be used, which is a disadvantage because a spear is often a primary weapon and the owner would need to get it back."

"Yes," Gil-Galad agreed ruefully. His mouth twitched in an amused grin.

He was unusually calm and level-headed, Estela thought, even for a renowned warrior who had fought countless battles.

"Fortunately," Estela added. "We do have something that might help."

They all looked at her puzzled. "We have mounted crossbows but that would take a slower to reload and aim. So we have developed double-crossbows- weapons that when we first devised them- required the use of two archers or more. However, we developed them further and now they are mechanized and advanced enough to be pulled by lever- pulled by one person. The arrows they fire are, in this case, thicker and stronger, sharper and harder in edge. If we were fighting in places like the woods, they would be used to fire slimmer, finer arrows, but still with a deadly edge. The weapons are currently outside waiting for inspection."

It was only polite to offer them for inspection, even though she already tested them as well as designed them herself. They all looked at each other, incredulous by this new turn of events.

"But I think that should wait until afterwards," she continued. She turned to Gil-Galad. "My king."

Gil-Galad moved forwards and pointed in turn, to the figurines on the map, moving each of them.

"If what you say is true and they are positioned here," he said thoughtfully, "The Easterling cavalry on the left wing would hold our cavalries' charge," he said. He moved the cavalry pieces. "So we would have to go through numbers of expert horse-men, not an easy task." He calmly moved other pieces. "The Haradrim themselves would be at the centre. In front of their high commander, are ten-to-fifteen Mûmakil so their leader would be well-defended. Unfortunately the head of the snake is he, and to disorganise and defeat them, we need to capture or kill him. The right holds infantry and a few horse-men with long pikes to break us apart. This means that we have to do our job quickly. I have ensured my warriors have long pikes of their own, razor-sharp and sturdy. I have more available, it would be useful for infantry." He smiled. "Our phalanx is very powerful. But cavalries are easy to manoeuvre and as we all know, have the advantage of speed." He moved the pieces representing their combined forces.

"I propose that we place the cavalry on both sides, left and right," Gil-Galad said. "But we must also have cavalry behind them, in case- and this is very likely- we run into trouble."

"That's easy," Oropher remarked. "There are plenty of cavalry to go in those directions. It will act as a defensive in the last resort and as a surprise offensive."

"Yes," Gil-Galad said. "Our infantry could be left vulnerable and we do need that. But the second phalanx could also help. We are in fact outnumbered, however, and we run the risk of being out-flanked."

"Hmmm," Estela murmured. Everyone turned to her. "We could lead the cavalry to the right, towards the edge of their lines,"

"Yes," Gil-Galad sounded almost surprised. Really? Did he not think she was capable?

"This could draw their cavalry," Estela continued. "They would follow our cavalry and-" she looked straight into Gil-Galad's sapphire eyes. "It would draw them away from the centre."

"Yes," he breathed. "That's exactly what we could do." They stood there staring at each other. Gil-Galad's eyes were a burning blue, she thought. For once, she actually did feel uncomfortable and did not know what to think. In fact, she didn't even want to know.

Concealing her unease, she turned back to the table. "But what if they surround us?" she asked, more to distract him than, she secretly admitted, in real concern.

"We would have to charge quickly," Gil-Galad said softly.

His voice stroked her. She nodded, concealing everything well. They worked on everything for some time, before Celeborn suggested they go outside and see the mounted crossbows and double-crossbows for themselves and the arrows that went with them. Estela warned them, they could fire at long-range and cross great-distances.

"The Mûmakil have their eyes in the front," she advised them. "They are sizeable enough to see well, but from a great distance and in comparison to the rest of their body, they are quite small. However, as they are in front, this gives them a small chance of vulnerability and they are exposed." She stated loud and clear. "We can target them there. Behind the ears as well, it's their most vulnerable spot. No one needs to waste their spears. They will need them for later." They tried them eagerly. They actually seemed to enjoy themselves.

She felt Gil-Galad's eyes watching her from behind. She struggled not to squirm. No, he didn't know who she was, and yes, understandably, he would be curious, even suspicious, but was this really necessary. Masking her unease she turned to him.

"My king," she greeted. "Very impressive," Gil-Galad said smoothly and softly, approaching to stand beside her. He had a calmness to him that made her feel uneasy- although technically speaking this _should _reassure her. His blue eyes burned. "I must say you are more impressive than I had ever expected."

"Thank you, my king," Estela said cautiously. "My companions have trained long and hard. We have had plenty of experience together."

"Oh, not your companions." The king said pleasantly. "Yes, I find them admirable indeed, but I was speaking about _you_." His blue eyes twinkled with humour. "I didn't expect someone to back me up in counsel. Not everyone does. In fact, usually I had to reason with and even argue, but everyone seems to agree with you."

She struggled not to blush. She was not a blushing _girl_! "You are too kind," she said slowly, even more cautiously, fearfully wondering where this was leading to. "But your proposal was indeed excellent and well-reasoned. Why shouldn't they back you in counsel?"

Gil-Galad's mouth twisted in wry humour. "Probably because they either think that I'm a pompous king who thinks he's better than anyone else so they decide to contest me, or that I am a soldier, not a king in fact." He smirked.

"Well, _that _is unreasonable," Estela said surprised. "I would be indignant if they thought of and acted as if I were that- it is rude, surely."

"It's politics," Gil-Galad shrugged, bored. "And I'm used to it. In the end, it's them who've proved themselves to be the idiots, not me. So yes, I have the pleasure of annoying them and saying: 'I told you so.'"

Despite herself Estela laughed, startling them both. Gil-Galad smiled. "So you can laugh," he remarked casually. She stared at him. "Of course I can laugh. Although," she added pressing her lips together. "I rarely do. My life is not for laughter."

He stared at her. "Why do you do it then?" she knew what he was asking. "Surely glory cannot be worth that much. And you do not seem like the sort that need gold and precious gems." She shook her head. "No, I don't do it for payment." "What about glory?" "No, not for glory either." "Then what?" he asked, waiting.

She took a deep breath. "I do it because someone must." She said quietly. She looked him straight in the eye. It took all of her courage to meet his fiery blue eyes that so unnerved and intimidated her. "And because the world has suffered more than enough griefs as it is. There is no need to add more, but there is a need to heal and to save those that need it."

She gave him the honest- if not partial- answer. She felt compelled to do so, primarily because of everything going around them, but also because the shame of living in peace was too much to bear, when so much has happened, and mostly because of her kin. It might not be her fault, or any of her cousins, but was it fair if she should live in comfort and relative safety, when the kin of those that had been slain had suffered?

Her mind wandered off to Eluréd and Elurín- twins and brothers of Elwing, mother of Elrond. Sorrow threatened to overwhelm her within, even though she had never met them, never even heard of them until the Sack of Doriath- the Second Kinslaying. Her uncles Tyelcormo, Carnistir and Curufinwë had died there, along with Dior King of Doriath and his wife Nimloth. The vengeful servants of her uncles had escorted the twins Eluréd and Elurín, sons of Dior, somewhere deep within the woods. When her father had found out what had happened, he desperately searched the deepest parts of the woods for them, but they had vanished. Perhaps they had faded, she thought, icy on the inside. Her father had broken down, stricken with grief and guilt at what had happened.

Elwing their sister had fled. After marrying Eärendil, Itarillë's son, they had twins of their own: Elrond and Elros. Unfortunately Elwing took the thrice-damned Silmaril her grandfather forged and the one Thingol's daughter had stolen from Morgoth. This meant that her father and remaining uncle, bound by their oath as they were, had to attack the Havens of Sirion where they lived. After Elwing's transformation, her father and uncle had taken Elrond and Elros to raise. Estela herself had had a key role in raising them. She was, technically, of their grandmother's generation, although slightly younger than Itarillë, but she was treated as an elder sister, and the twins remained close to her, grieving together when her father died.

What could she honestly say to Gil-Galad? To Oropher and Thranduil who lived in Doriath for a time? To Amdir? To anyone? That her fathers, her uncles, were the cause of their suffering? Will they even look at her, and wonder why she was still breathing, alive and gloriously successful in combat and other things, while Eluréd and Elurín, Dior and Nimloth, the Falmari slain in Valinor and the ones dead in Sirion, no longer walked on Arda? Maybe not her fault, but certainly unfair. And she had never felt the wrath of the Fëanorions. In fact, quite the opposite- she was unbelievably loved. It might not be her fault, but the weight of everything still lingered and there were those that suffered, still living, still mistrustful. And she needed to help them.

"Your thoughts are very deep," Gil-Galad's voice said softly.

She was startled from them. Looking up, she saw the king's blue eyes gaze at her in concern. "Yes," she sighed. "But I am fine."

"And yet it seems to me as if you have had your share of grief," he said slowly. "Forgive me, if I broached painful subject."

"It is alright," Estela responded, reassuring the High King, and herself. Gil-Galad's eyes gazed deep into hers, it seemed as if he was about to say something, but someone arrived.

"My king!" he called out. Gil-Galad closed his eyes in irritation. "Yes?" he asked, going over to the _ellon_. Estela stayed there in silence. After a while, she felt Elrond approach.

He sighed. "You have had me and Celeborn worried for you," he said. "Not just for the upcoming battle." He looked over to her in concern. "Are you alright?" he asked. His brows furrowed.

She sighed. "I am fine." He raised an eyebrow. "What?" she asked irritated. "You don't believe me?" she sighed again and in order to change the topic, she asked. "Is the High King always this calm before a battle?"

"Normally yes," Elrond said dryly. "But strangely, not this time, at least, not until you came along." He gave her a pointed look.

"And what, may I ask is that supposed to mean?" she asked softly, fixing her emerald stare onto his grey eyes. She lowered her tone, in case anyone passing by might have heard them and guessed at their familiarity.

Just then a rider galloped into the camp. "The Haradrim!" he cried. "The Haradrim are advancing. They are going to attack!"

Gil-Galad's eyes sharpened. "Are the warriors ready?" he barked. An _ellon_ came beside him and replied, "Yes, my king." "Are the archers practiced at those?" he referred to the weapons Estela had built. "Yes, my king." "Saddle the horses," Gil-Galad issued. "Have the infantry phalanx move into position with the others." "Yes, my king." Estela heard Oropher issue out similar orders. She turned to Elrond. "It is time. We fight and whatever happens today will decide the outcome of us all." She did not know how right she was.

* * *

Estela stood with the cavalry. She was an expert rider. Ereinion Gil-Galad led the cavalry charge, going to the right, as he had proposed. She was thankful he was a military genius. Estela went with him, feeling her horse gallop beneath her and the rush of energy in her blood, as always during a battle.

Before long, they were followed by the Easterling cavalry division of the Haradrim army. No doubt wondering what they were up to and determined to put a stop to it, chasing them in hopes of slaughter. The dust from the earth billowed upwards around them creating a cloud but elven eyes were unaffected, although the enemy were easily bewildered and were beginning to think they should start to panic.

But they had missed something crucial that was far too late. By the time they had pulled considerably away from the centre, the Haradrim leaders realised what was happening. The Haradrim panicked and gave the signal. Their left wing began to advance.

"We have to charge!" Gil-Galad shouted over the dust and the thunder of the horses' hooves. "Now!"

"Forward!" Estela screamed to her companions. They rushed forwards, galloping as hard and fast as they came. Estela felt the power of the horse's strength accelerating them forwards. She was wide awake and felt the lingering, powerful rush in her blood.

They had to move past. Heading straight towards the centre, she heard someone scream: "This is insanity, we'll be slaughtered."

She always knew that was a possibility. After all, they were outnumbered. But they had to try and it seemed like a chance of success. She urged her companions. "Faster!" she shouted.

Their horses kept galloping. Finally they hurled onto their opposing infantry which had quickly defended their centre, and Estela was in the heat of it all. She had always preferred to use two swords, one in each hand, but being on horseback did not make it an option. It did not mean she was any less skilled though, her father had trained her well.

Her single blade sliced, emitting strangled screams of agony and a gush of streaming scarlet from one opponent. She didn't even blink before she moved to her next attacker. Clouds of dust billowed everywhere making it harder for the humans to see. That was all well for her enemies, but her allies needed help. They had to get this over and done with as quickly as possible.

And they weren't the only ones at risk. Amidst the smoke and blood, and the mass of heaving, struggling elves and men, she saw the gigantic shapes of the Mûmakil advance. Not good, not good at all.

Their commander had seen the window of opportunity and seized it. The giant mammals lowered their heads and their six tusks, colossal ivory adorned with razor-thorns, were ready to smash through their phalanx far behind.

Cursing inwardly, she screamed for Gil-Galad. Ereinion stood poised but bloodied, after imbedding Aeglos onto a fallen enemy, finishing him. He straightened his blue eyes sharpening.

Estela looked over to him. "They're charging!" she screamed. "The Mûmakil are charging!"

Ereinion cursed. He was off his horse so he quickly found it and mounted. They had exceedingly little time.

* * *

"Lower them!" Elrond shouted. They lowered their long spears and pikes. These were in front. The middle had their spears upwards to deflect anything thrown at them. Those that were behind carried shields and swords.

It was a good thing they were disciplined. "Advance!" Elrond shouted.

The phalanxes advanced. The shield-walls stayed slightly behind them but they did not move too much.

Then in between the openings, Estela's mounted cross-bows and mechanized double-crossbows were brought forth. Men and elves alike aimed and fired the weapons accordingly to their instructions. Thankfully, their practice times was sufficient. The special arrows whipped smoothly through the air before imbedding themselves in their targets.

The first Mûmak gave a trumpeting scream. More of them were hit, some in the eye and others behind the ears, as the elves and men, reloaded and shot the arrows, their legs buckled and they landed on the ground with an enormous crash.

But while most of them went down, others kept coming. Archers with ordinary bows and arrows targeted the drivers and warriors atop the Mûmakil and some of them grabbed the ropes beneath their Mûmak's ears causing them to go down and crash sideways onto other ones.

The few remaining Mûmakil were urged by their drivers to go faster. Elrond shouted at the troops to hold firm. Then they opened rank.

The Mûmakil were like bovine bulls in that regard- they could not break a charge or halt all of a sudden. The curses of their drivers were heard as they actually went _past _the phalanxes and thangails, and some even snickered.

But there was no time to laugh. Elrond directed them to fire Estela's arrows and ordinary ones at the Mûmakil and their drivers. The men's screams and the trumpeting roars of their Mûmakil were followed by the crash as they landed. They were swiftly eliminated.

Elves were excellent archers after all.

* * *

Meanwhile, Estela had spotted the way their phalanxes had dealt with the Mûmakil charge. She thought they should have brought more. It was arrogant of them and of the King's Men to think that only a few gigantic Mûmakil would be more than enough to win the day. What the Númenórean king was thinking, she would never knew.

She looked at Gil-Galad with relief in her eyes. Ereinion saw that it was safe and there was no need to go to the phalanx, thangail and infantry's aid. He turned just in time to slash through the body of a charging adversary.

They carried on fighting, harder and faster than before. Estela swiftly dispatched one enemy then another. She was sorely tempted to jump off her horse and fight on her feet so she could use two swords but there was always the risk that she needed to get out of there quickly to help another division and couldn't afford to waste time finding her horse.

But they weren't going to stay there for long- a relief as anyone who stayed for too long were sure to get killed. The Haradrim Commander- who was not even participating in the battle on a Mûmak- had ordered his cavalry to reinforce his besieged troops from Gil-Galad and Estela.

Estela spotted the gap and so did the High King. They looked at each other and wasted no time. Estela shouted to her companions and Gil-Galad gave the order. She could see the blue of the king's eyes blazing brightly, blazing in ferocious determination and rage. The calm, level-headed e_llon _before and during the first part of the battle had given way to something else- someone full of _rage _at the dying screams of men, elves, horses and Mûmakil. Like most elves he grieved the unnecessary loss of living creatures, being and beast alike. And it filled him with rage.

Estela never raged in fire. Her kin, particularly her grandfather and a few uncles were famous for their raging-hot temperaments, but Estela had trained herself to react in ice, never heat. She felt that it would be dangerous to react angrily in such a way, especially if they were capable of doing many things. She did not feel rage, but grief and dread for more. She looked at Gil-Galad. Their eyes, his sapphire ones and her emerald, met and both knew. They had to finish this, as soon as possible.

The gap that had been created by the reinforcing cavalry were charged at by Gil-Galad and Estela. They swerved left and entered straight into the opening.

The Haradrim commander was there, Estela saw. Gil-Galad saw him too and urged his horse faster, his blue eyes so bright they could have burned all that they saw. The phalanxes and shield-walls advanced as well when they saw what the cavalry was doing.

He wielded Aeglos in his right hand.

Estela urged her own horse and went ahead of him.

The Haradrim commander, war-painted (as if _he_ did any work himself), and wearing costly armour, stood flanked by many warriors. At first glance, his armour- not like the ones the typical Haradrim men wore, looked as though it were of Númenórean make. Then she realised in horror, that it was _elven. _Elven armour.

Seeing it gave her anger. But also steely determination. She had meant to go ahead. She would hold them off for Gil-Galad. If she died, anyway, he would be able to take the head of the snake.

His warriors shouted in alarm. She spun on her saddle and her blade swiftly sliced through them left and right.

There wasn't time to decide otherwise. She drew her other sword and sliced through enemy bodies and air as swiftly and gracefully as she had ever done.

They didn't even have time to process what was happening. They were all dead before the others caught up. It was the same way all her enemies- including the ones she had killed back there- had died. And she charged with Ereinion, straight at the commander.

His two closest bodyguards huddled fearfully around him. Estela sliced through the ones that were foolish enough to run forwards, Ereinion following close behind her. And she cut off the head of the bodyguard on the right, the same time the High King killed the one on the left. And she sliced her sword into the commander's neck, despite his futile attempts to save himself, just as Ereinion plunged his spear into his heart.

Dead.

Those opposing that were left screamed, and some of them started to flee. Some were cut down, but thankfully, as Estela felt, some escaped. They were unlikely to get back. She didn't want to kill any more than she had to.

She turned to him, feeling mildly surprised that he had achieved their goal at the exact same time as she did. He wore the same look of mild surprise; their nerves were too full of battle-rush for them to experience anything more. All around them, the men and elves were slaughtering any enemy who remained. Estela felt them blur around her and their shouting voices fade into nothing. All she saw, were the sapphire eyes of the High King, and how they gazed at her, fixed, unmoving. They could have been killed by vengeful enemies. They could have been hit by something. But they weren't. And nothing distracted her from the power of his gaze. And of her own.

Her sword hung limply from her side. He had forgotten Aeglos, still imbedded in the commander's corpse. There was a strange power at work in that moment, mightier than anything she had ever experienced. It frightened her.

She turned away. But Gil-Galad's eyes remained on her for a very long time. And she felt as if they would remain forever.

* * *

**_Well, that was that done! Unbelievable, I actually wrote a battle _and _the story in detail. The Battle is inspired by the Battle of Gaugemela- the famous battle fought by Alexander the Great to win the Persian Empire against Darius King of Persia. However, unlike the men and elves here, they did not use Mûmakil- instead they had chariots with blades sticking from the sides of the wheels. And Darius escaped that battle only to be killed by his generals later on, unlike the unknown commander here. Double Crossbows are a weapon used by the Khmer soldiers from Angkor. They were two bows put together and operated by two archers. They could be used in amongst the dense vegetation of the jungles of Cambodia and were easy and silent to carry out, with a longer range. However, unlike the ones Estela developed here, they were not mechanized and did not have levers!_**


	20. Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty

Estela watched as they celebrated. She had hastily took charge of gathering the wounded and tended to them. She had centuries of experience in that, tending to injuries. Her father might have trained her, but until after his death she had never fought in an actual battle or a covert mission.

Instead she spent time with her mother and became an expert healer. She had taught the twins that, she remembered glancing at where Elrond now knelt over a wounded man.

Squeezing a wet cloth over a bowl, she covered a man's brow. "Rest now," she said. "I can guarantee that you will not die. You will live." She was telling the truth. The man looked at her in awe.

"I saw you," he whispered. "You and the king…. You fought like a Vala."  
"Hush," she murmured. "They say you cannot be defeated or touched by a weapon," the man whispered. "You… you saved us, saved us all."

"Rest," she repeated soothingly. "You need to sleep in order to heal."

She stood. This had been repeated in many variations throughout the course of her healing. Thankfully the majority of their troops survived. But death still surrounded them. She walked past them, most of them had had her ministrations and Elrond's, the rest were in good hands and unlikely to die, with injuries that were far less serious anyway. She needed space to breathe.

Making her way outside the healer's part of the camp, she grasped a pole and took a deep lungful of the cold air. It was dusk.

"Tired," a familiar voice sounded behind her. She knew it was the High King.

"The battle was long, but it was the healing that took most of my energy," she smiled. "I was glad to do it, though."

"I see," he moved next to her. "You should rest."

"I am taking a break now," Estela explained. "Soon I will go back inside. I would have rested sufficiently by then. It's nothing new to me."

"Except in a larger scale," he pointed out. He looked at her. "Are you truthfully alright?"

"I am fine," Estela said. She tried to brush off an unidentifiable, unfamiliar feeling.

His gaze bore into her.

"If I believed that," he said quietly. "I would not have asked. You know I must concern myself, before you ask, Estela Nelyafinwiel."

Estela froze. Shock resounded through her and hit her inner core. Never, never in all the years of her life, had there ever been… had anyone ever _guessed_-

He gazed straight into her eyes. "I came not to condemn you," he said quietly. "I just want you to know that you are not friendless and that you are not alone." His hand brushed her face.

"How-" Estela choked. "How did you know? _You_-" she remembered the 'dream'. "You were there," she stammered. "In the clearing, when I killed the orcs. I thought it was a dream, but- but it wasn't. Was it?" she glanced fearfully at Gil-Galad. She took a deep, shaky breath, and felt herself begin to shake. "How did you know?"

His blue eyes stood out in the dark. "I found out in a dream. It was memories. And yes, I did see you that night. I saw you and ever since then, I had been agonizing myself over who you were and you where you could be."

Estela opened her mouth and closed it. What was he saying, she thought bewildered and frightened, her emerald eyes wide. Instinctively, still shaking, she took a step back.

"No." she said with uncharacteristic firmness. She shook her head. "You don't know what you're saying."

Gil-Galad's brow furrowed and his blue eyes narrowed in hurt.

"What makes you think that?" he asked in a dangerous voice. But she was not afraid. She scowled.

"I have many reasons to think that," she said. "One, namely because you are the King of Lindon- of the Noldor people in Middle-Earth and that you are High King of the elves. If you know who I am, then you know what you risk with me- not just yourself but everything you've worked so hard to build."

Gil-Galad said nothing and his expression did not change.

"Consider," she continued as if she had not stopped, "what happened to my own grandfather. Despite all his great accomplishments, despite achieving glory and success on a scale previously unimagined, look at what he is remembered now. It took very few decisions to do _that_."

"You are not your grandfather," Gil-Galad said, his eyes narrowed further. "I do not believe you are like that, and after what I have seen with my own eyes-"

She shook her head harder.

"I am _cursed_," she said. "It has been centuries since I left Valinor, and not by my own choice- by my grandfather's order. "The Doom of Mandos was pronounced- the Lord of Mandos came himself in person." Her eyes darkened and then misted over in pain.

"He came to us that night, soon after our arrival in Losgar," she said. "The ships burned." Her eyes, ears and nose remembered it all. The scent of the burning wood and smoke floated to her nostrils, her eyes stung with the smoke, sensitive in her young age, and the flames threw a wild, almost demoniacal light over the shore where the ships were anchored.

Telerin ships.

The thing that struck at her core wasn't just the trauma, but the horrifying sense of…_betrayal_…

She had watched the ships beings built. She had ran her tiny palms across the white wood, gazed with gleeful delight as she first looked upon the swan's head when it was revealed, when she had chosen to help her delighted maternal grandfather in sculpting the figurehead. She had inset the eyes- jet and a tiny gold nugget in each, her grandfather helping her seal them in place so they would never be moved or taken by the waves or the wind.

She had been praised for her work, her proud grandfather holding her up to see her handiwork, the shipwrights smiling fondly as they clapped and cheered. She loved the swans. Wanted to see as many of them as she could.

Yet now the smoke rose in the air, and the smell of burning wood lingered persistently, damningly in her nostrils. The sea was a dark, glassy surface, black as the void in her heart. Black as the doom that was sure to come.

Her mother clutched her close. She buried her face in her mother's skirts, her Telerin mother who married the father that turned away, his dark blue eyes haunted and dark with the sights he had seen, and the memories of it all. His sculpted, chiselled face seemed unnaturally haggard and there were dark half-circles under his eyes. His cloak flapped in the wind, the fabric floating like a ghost. One lone figure stood out among the rest of the Noldorin host.

He had frozen when he heard. Telufinwë, his youngest brother, had choked on his sobs, ran to a cabin and bolted the door. He had refused to come out. Not even when their father ordered the ships to be burnt.

And so the smell of burning flesh was prevalent also amidst the smell of the smoke and burnt wood.

The horrified Maitimo screamed a silent scream when he heard what Pityafinwë had to say to their father. And Estela saw, and Estela heard.

And Námo Lord of Mandos had arrived, amidst all that had happened, looking at her grandfather with stern reproachfulness at the severity of what had happened.

"Tears unnumbered shall you shed," Mandos told sternly. His dark countenance radiated outwards, frightening even the boldest of elves. "The Valar shall fence Valinor against you. And so shall you be shut out, so not even the echoes of your lamentations shall be heard by those over the mountains. On the House of Fëanáro shall the Doom of the Valar be placed; from the west of this world, to the east, upon all those that follow them shall it also be placed. The Oath that you have sworn upon, shall drive you, yet shall it also betray you, and shall it ever snatch the very treasures that in your blind rage, you have sworn to pursue, destroying all those that stand in your way, even the faultless. To evil end shall all things turn if they begin well; and by the treason of kin unto their kin, and forever, the fear of treason shall come to pass. The Dispossessed shall you be, forever.

"You have spilt the blood of your kin, unrighteously, and stained the sacred land of Aman. For blood, shall you render blood, and thus beyond Aman, shall you last in Death's shadow. For though Eru All-Father rendered you never to die within Eä, and no sickness shall beset you, slain may you be, and slain shall you be, by the weapons, by torment and by grief; and so then to Mandos shall your houseless spirits come, and there shall you abide, long and yearn for your bodily form, and find little pity in those that you have slain. As for those who have not been slain, in Middle-Earth shall you dwell, never to go to Mandos, thus ever shall you grow weary; this world shall forever be a great burden unto you, painful and merciless in its trials and tribulations, and so shall it give pain, and so shall you be as wearisome shades, waning of your regrets in your choice of life, waning before the younger race Ilúvatar has sent ahead to be born into this world. Thus, the Valar have spoken."

That was the curse.

Those that followed were also affected. And it was a curse Ereinion Gil-Galad, High King of the Noldor and the elves, would take upon himself, if he chose to pursue her.

Her eyes- she didn't even know they were shut- snapped open.

"Can you promise not to pursue me, Ereinion Ñoldóran? She begged. "Can you promise me, for your own sake? If not for you, then for the people that follow you?" she was almost throwing herself to her knees.

She didn't even know she was crying. Tears streamed from her eyes and coursed itself down her face.

"Why are you saying this?" he whispered. "Why are you cursed? You have done nothing wrong," he said harshly. He knew, of course he did, she was a small child when she had left Valinor- not by her choice- and forced to lose family members, one at a time. He tried to comfort her, to embrace her, but she pulled away.

"You are _not _cursed." He whispered harshly. "I refuse to believe the Valar would ever place a doom upon the head of an innocent _child_ who by far, did not make any of the choices others did."

"But I followed," she whispered. "Not by my choice, but I followed and I _heard_," she whispered. "I heard what he said."

She closed her eyes and a tear seeped out. Estela who had stopped crying centuries ago was, to her own frustration, was starting once again.

Memories flooded through his mind, courtesy of her: the meeting between her father and uncle and her Telerin family members, what she saw of the First Kinslaying, the burning of the ships in Losgar, the loss of one of her uncles- more of a playmate and brother to her- the Doom of Mandos….

The Sacking of Doriath- the Second Kinslaying. The deaths of three uncles, and the deaths of Dior the King, Nimloth his wife, and the awful, horror she felt when she heard about the fate of their sons, and how her father tirelessly searched for them in vain, despite the pleas of her mother, saying it was useless. He was desperate, too desperate.

The horrifying, dooming news that the jewel was in the Havens of Sirion. The begging of her father, desperate to know that the news was not true, and the tear that seeped from her uncle Macalaurë. The news of the Third Kinslaying. The finding of the twins Elrond and Elros. The news that her father and uncle were taking them in, rather than allowing them to survive on their own or slaying them. Growing up with them, teaching them healing, fighting, languages, literacy, sciences, crafts, mathematics, geography and many others.

The fading of her mother in grief when she believed her father and Estela were slain. Her father when he heard the news. Her own screams and tears of grief.

Her father when she last saw him. He was preparing to leave.

"Please Atar," she begged him. "Please."

Her father looked at her, the strain of grief written in his handsome face. His loss of his soulmate was written all over, clear as the light of day. And his dark eyes, seemed a darker indigo in their grief.

"I am forever cursed, forever bound to go," he said hollowly. His resolve threatened to break and crumble as he beheld the form of his only child. "But I cannot lose you as well, _Melda Selde_, no, I never can," he shook his head to shake the tears that formed in miniscule beads in his eyes.

"I won't let you do this!" she was becoming hysterical. She clutched at his sleeve. "Atar, I won't let you do this!"

Maitimo went silent. Then he lowered his head. His face remained in shadow. "I cannot let you die," he said hoarsely, hollowly. "The way your mother suffered and died. I cannot let you be slain, the way many others were."

"Then _stay_!" she almost shrieked, tears coursing down her face in alarming quantities.

Her father looked up. "You know what to do," he said in a voice that tried to remain emotionless, empty, but came out as hoarse and hollowed even further, by grief at not only what had happened, but what also would occur.

He looked so hollow and blank as soldiers came up and held Estela by her arms. "What-" she started. Then she shrieked: "Let go of me!" They pulled her back, to the fortress. "Atar-"

"_Melanye tye, melda selde_" Her father whispered, raising his head, and for the first time, his tears flowed unchecked. "I will always love you, no matter where I go,"

"Atar!" the first time she screamed outright. "Atar, please-" The elves dragged her away.

"Pleeeasse!" The scream was also was sob. The utterly hysterical scream that ripped through the air, her sobs shaking her chest, "Please, Atar!"

"Atar!" she screamed before the closed and bolted the door for good measure.

"Atar!" But although she screamed and pounded the doors with her fists, begging not to let him go, not to lose her father, not to lose anymore, to let her go so she may try to stop him, no one listened. And after a while, her screams stopped, and all went silent. And when Melehton, her father's second-in-command, opened the door, finally, her voice had been lost due to the pleas and sobs that shook her.

"My father?" she managed to whisper, her voice barely heard.

He closed his eyes. How could he tell her?

But she somehow knew. A pit of molten rock, liquid fire that scorched him and burned him. consuming entirely. Her uncle, the last remaining relative, disappeared, missing, they say, to lament his loss for the ages to come.

They were all lost to her.

Now what did she have left?

* * *

Ereinion stood shocked as the last images cleared from his mind. The memories that came before she made a decision to fight the wrongs done to them.

"Was this why you chose to do what you've done?" he whispered. "Fighting evil- was that why you did that?"

She shook her head. "I cannot turn back the Doom of Mandos," she said quietly. Her eyes met his. She would not look down or away when she was telling him what she felt. "And even if I can try, I never will. What I do, I don't do so I can try to show the world that we are not evil, even if we truly aren't. I would tell my name, my heritage to the world, crying it out as I go to battle, if I were. But I keep silent. Silence is what I live by, and I keep no reward, nor will I tolerate any ill-gotten one, even if they proclaimed that the Fëanorians are not all evil, and are capable of great good as well as great accomplishments and great ill. My works are not for sale nor will they be bargained for anything."

And Ereinion was silent and he knew, he just confirmed what he already knew when he first caught sight of her. The chroniclers, poets, historians and scholars would all write this, even centuries after the War of the Ring, that this was the moment he knew not only did he love her, but they were right for each other. Perhaps they exaggerated, perhaps they over-embellished things a little. But whilst Beren and Lúthien met in a clearing filled with flowers in the forest of Nan Elmoth, and Arwen Undomiel met Aragorn-Elessar, and Idril Celebrindal met Tuor in a shining city, this was a meeting of a different kind. No one sang, laughed or danced. He did not present her with tokens of love at that time as he sensed it would only drive her further away. She did not melt in his arms and pledge herself the first time. Nor was she dressed in the airy fabrics and jewels or flowers worn by Lúthien or Idril, her cousin. He was battle-hardened and still had not removed his armour, and blood-stained, torn clothing beneath. She was dressed in a healer's shift, stained with the blood of the wounded and dying, the ones she were trying to save.

This was not the meeting poets envisioned. The first time he saw her, she did not dance to music, but a dance more beautiful, and more deadly. The dance of death she dealt to the orcs, some would say.

The poets had it wrong. And they will continue to get it wrong. But it was no less powerful and irrevocable for Ereinion Gil-Galad as she quietly took her leave and left him in silence underneath the light of the stars. Their losses were minimal. But she had decided to treat the prisoners as well. They weren't savages to treat them cruelly.

But as Ereinion Gil-Galad stood there, underneath the light of the stars ad of _ithil, _he thought how dark and desolate his world would be as she left. How devastating and devoid of light.

He would not be shattered. And he would not shatter her the way her kin did.

Ereinion strode back to his tent. His speed increased and he felt the blood rising up his neck and pounding at his temples in a fury.

The flaps fluttered shut behind him. He stood and gazed at the ceiling of the tent.

_Why?_ He demanded the Valar silently. _Why did you make an innocent child suffer for what she did not choose and what she could not control?_

_I _trusted_ you, _he wanted to scream in betrayal. _I had _faith_ in you. I _followed_ you! Never have I doubted you! And you would do this to an innocent child and doom her kin, even though they also saw the fault in their ways- _forever_? _

Forever meant there was no turning back, he thought bitterly. No matter how much good the sons of Fëanor did later in, their other deeds weighed heavily. Whatever good they did was wiped from the memories of the Ainur, and they would only see them as kinslayers- and place a curse upon their kin, even upon the innocent. And she was Telerin as well as Noldorin.

_Why?! _he screamed in silence. He demanded an answer. But he received none.

_How could you be so unjust, unkind and cruel? Why do you punish her? Has she not suffered enough, not only by the hands of Morgoth the cursed and his slaves, but by her own kin, the ones she loved, and you, yourselves as well, only added to her suffering?! Why is this so? How can this be just and right? _

_Why do you make _her_ suffer? _He demanded again. _Why?_

There was silence. _Just because it is what it done, _he thought, _does not mean that it should be this way. None of it is right._

But there was no answer. Just as he thought, he thought bitterly. The Valar were not listening.

But they were.

* * *

**_Oh, boy, sorry for the long wait. But as it reveals, there is more than just fear of rejection from Estela and her kin. The Doom of Mandos, as could be found in the Silmarillion, which I re-wrote and paraphrased (after all you can't expect chroniclers- including Rúmil who Tolkien planned to be the 'writer' of the Silmarillion in Arda and Valinor- to say exactly what the people said word by word. But that is the cause of Estela's fear- that she will summon a doom upon Gil-Galad's head and the heads of the Noldor as well as cost his alliance with the Wood-Elves. And as it turned out, she's trying to do good to redeem her kin- not to show to the world or the Valar, but simply to do good to others after all the ill her kin had done. What are the Valar thinking after all? _**


	21. Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-One

Up high in the sky, high above the camp where Estela tended the wounded and Gil-Galad had started to receive more reports, high in the air, above the clouds, high, high above, the sound of its wings flapping lost in the wind, an eagle called.

Its gleaming eyes had seen all. And it had heard all.

This was no ordinary eagle. For one thing it was massive, so massive it was a wonder that it was not spotted, even by the sharpest-eyed of the earthly beings, the elves, who spotted stars in the blackest nights.

It soared past, and in its eye it held what it had seen- the High King speaking with the only maiden he loved- with Estela, poor doomed grandchild of Fëanáro.

In the eye of the eagle, deep in its reflective surface, one could see something else. It saw for a purpose.

Manwë High King of the Valar, King of Arda and Lord of the West opened his eyes.

High above the clouds, shrouded and veiled by heavy mists and fog, was a mountain. Its name: Taniquetil.

Here the Ring of Doom was formed, despite once meeting outside the Western Gates of Valmar, before the Two Trees were destroyed. The Máhanaxar as it was called were conveyed in Taniquetil, after Morgoth's destruction of the Peace of Valinor.

"We must end this now!"

"But she may yet succeed on her own, we can still wait, a moment longer-"

"Any longer? After so many centuries, we must wait _longer_?"

"Mercy! She was just a child! She never chose this! She could control _nothing_!"

"She never did. Her choices were controlled by her kin. It is they who doomed her. They are to blame."

"Enough!" Manwë's voice rang loud, as it always did, clear and strong, even more so than the winds he commanded.

The Valar immediately fell silent.

Fourteen beings there were, of such power that never originated from Arda and which Arda could not contain or hold back if they chose to destroy it. If an earthly being ever beheld the Máhanaxar, the word '_awe' _could not even come close to describing it.

Manwë Súlimo, High King of the Valar stood upon his throne. Arrayed in deep blue, Manwë was gigantic in scale and comparison to the earthly beings in his immortal form. He could appear the size of an elf if he wished but this was the Ring of Doom, where the Valar met in counsel.

Manwë's eyes were bluer than the skies in which he reigned and his hair was golden like the sun. It was pure gold like Laurelin once, or Telperion if it was night. When night settled upon Valinor, his hair would be silvery-pale, like the moon. His features were noble and fair- sculpted and finer than what even elves could shape from stone. His eyes spoke of the sky the same way his hair reflected the light.

Next to him sat Varda upon her throne. The Queen of Stars wore robes that had stars- not embroidered or dyed, but real, true stars. The whole cosmos of Eä dwelt in her robes- whole shining constellations and glowing nebulae, swimming in the 'fabric' if it was even that. Her flowing hair was midnight woven with silver light, she had a diadem of stars and nebulae upon her brow, and her eyes were like amber stars themselves. They now resembled supernovas- not like ordinary eyes with sclera, cornea, pupils and irises.

Ulmo Lord of the Deep, was present as well. Who convinced him, could anyone be sure? Perhaps it was Nienna.

"Perhaps we may reconsider" Ulmo noted sorrowfully. His form was terrifying to earthly races: Gigantic, with skin the colour of the sea, a long beard like sea-foam, and a crest, like ribbed murex shell, his eyes seemed made of silver light rather than any solid substance- like Varda's they did not resemble those of ordinary beings. Ray fins protruded from his flesh.

"It was unkind," Ulmo continued. And his voice was truly deep as his domains. "That a curse should be extended upon the child as well as the parents and grandparents. And must we be so final in our judgements?"

"You know as well as I, Ulmo," Irmo of Lórien spoke. "That the will of our Father, cannot be revoked. His voice was pained and sorrowing.

Irmo was of the same proportions as the other Valar, but seemingly smaller, of a slighter build, his skin was fair, but with a warm-lit glow about it, hazy on its surface. Irmo's face was gentle, but it seemed to shift while remaining the same, a dream-like warmth and mist lingered around him, clouds of soft colour forming around his light.

Irmo looked troubled. "She is faultless." He pressed his lips together. "I do not see why she should be blamed for something she did not commit."

"Then we are all agreed in this!" Tulkas exclaimed. He leaned forward, his normally jovial features grieved and spoke of pain. "Why must she suffer? Recall her back to Valinor, call off the Doom!"

"I second that vote," Nienna said.

"I as well," Oromë agreed.

"You have heard what she said." A voice resounded. "She will not come back."

All eyes turned to the Judge of the Dead.

Námo sat in the shadows on his throne. The shadow gradually receded, revealing him. His hair was black as death's veil that covered the eyes of men, and his face was strong and noble, but his eyes lingered in shadow.

Námo was perhaps the most mysterious of all the Valar. Even Ulmo, who dwelt in his depths and rarely ever came to counsel was more familiar, and his mood more predictable. But Námo, mistakenly known as Mandos- the name of his Hall- was unpredictable, and no one knew what he would say. Was he merciless and unforgiving? Was he understanding and did he give even a small measure of hope to anyone? No one knew. No one could ever be sure.

Not even his siblings were sure.

Irmo stirred, as if uneasy. Nienna caught her breath.

"She will not come back," Námo repeated. His voice, though not as deep as Ulmo's was strong. He sighed. "You have heard what she said. She does not fight to prove to Arda and to us, that she is different and they can be redeemed. She fights because she does what is right. She fights because she feels she might. And I let her believe she is cursed so that she may yet redeem her kin and break the Doom."

There was an intake of breath all around. "Námo what do you mean?" Oromë demanded. "What do you mean 'break the Doom'? Námo this may be your realm but we all know full well that there is no 'breaking the Doom' as you have just said."

"Indeed," Aulë repeated. He frowned all the way to his copper-brown beard. "Námo, if we knew nothing of your goodness then we would have believed you were trying to deceive us."

The Lord of Mandos scoffed. "Nay, Aulë, I do not jest, nor do I deceive you. You yourselves know me, and I say what has long since been decided, between only myself and our Father."

"What?" "What is this?" the demands for more answers came up, until Manwë banged his chased rod of gold upon the floor. "Silence! Let Námo explain!"

The sound thundered and echoed all around. They all fell silent, although all eyes looked upon the Judge of the Dead, expectantly.

The Judge of the Dead raised his hooded eyes. They still remained in shadow, as they always seemed, but now a light shone out of them. All those who knew him interpreted this as a good sign.

"As you all know," he began slowly. "When Fëanáro committed that terrible treacherous act, and soon after he and his host arrived on the shores of Middle-Earth, I came in person to deliver the Doom- his punishment, and the punishment for all those that followed, for the deeds he had committed."

They waited. Tulkas and Oromë frowned. Everyone already knew this.

"And so I conferred with our Father," Námo continued. "And we both agreed.

"Those who knew Fëanáro before the Kinslayings and the murder of his father, spoke of a different being," Námo's voice was loud and clear. "They spoke of a devoted son, an adoring husband and a father who worshipped his children and grandchildren. They spoke of a prince not only respected, but _loved _by his people, and remembered when he built Alqualondë and numerous cities, buildings and so forth. They remembered him as one who taught and treated his apprentices well and was fair and just in his doings. Thus it kept on like that. Until the day Morgoth, then Melkor came to him."

A silence louder than the clap of doom resounded throughout the Máhanaxar. Nienna looked sorrowful and turned her grey eyes towards Oromë. Nienna always, or nearly always wept, in an incredible rate. Water streamed out of her eyes and onto the floor- it was the same amount as two rivers.

Manwë looked stricken and covered his forehead with his palm. Varda's eyes appeared to dim.

"And so I looked at his deeds and the deeds of his sons, and I compared them to the many deeds they had done, and the good they were capable of, and I was in a conundrum. What fate shall be given to them, without appearing to be unjust in any way? It was my duty and my responsibility, Fëanáro, his sons and followers should pay for their crimes, yet what must I do? Ignore the good they have done, the good beings they were prior to this madness? Although we cannot be certain, I suspected Morgoth-Melkor- had something to do with his madness.

"And so I spoke, begging our Father to give me an answer, for I must do the task He has set me to do, and thus He answered."

"What did He say?" Tulkas asked eagerly.

"Tell us, you have kept this to yourself for too long," Nessa reproached.

"He told me that although Fëanáro and his sons must pay for their crimes, good deeds are never unnoticed and the end is not always the end. Hope is given, renewal of spirit is learnt, and so Fëanáro, his sons and followers, do not face the eternal end, as most assume they do? How could they? If I am to be just, and pronounce my judgement with the Father's support, thus must I follow the solution he has set out for me. Fëanáro and those that followed him must pay, yet they must be given hope, and a chance to renew and be set free."

The Valar looked upon each other in astonishment. Daring not to breathe Oromë asked, "What… _hope_?"

"The Hope the mother named her child upon the moment of her birth," Námo said. "The child we and our Father promised her. She may not have known the full horror of the future and what it held in store for her child, but she sensed the child would be _hope_. So she named her Estela- Estel- _Hope_."

The Valar looked at each other. "What hope is this?" Estë asked, also breathless. Her dreamy blue eyes, hazy fair complexion and shimmering, glowing golden hair, and the hazy light all around her would make mortals feel a desire to rest and delve into sleep, but her eyes were wide and this time she was fully awake.

"Estela is a chance of redemption, freedom and a hope to many- not just a chance of survival to those that have none," Námo confirmed. "If she fulfils the task that the All-Father has set her out to do- f she would show courage, even in her greatest fears, face temptation, torment as well as the agony of her _fëa- _if she faces the trials that has set out for her, prove herself even more selfless and show restraint in the worst times, then things may change. If she shows restraint against allowing Darkness to manipulate her and turn her into her grandfather, show courage in turning a different path than others take, even facing death if needs be, resist temptation, only then shall the Doom be broken and the House of Fëanáro be redeemed once more. And so shall their followers. All shall be redeemed- but it depends on this one girl. The Father has said that he would not destroy their house, if one had strength, and thus was righteous enough to change the course of fate. I believe that for the House of Fëanáro, the Noldorin, the elves or Arda in general- it may come down to Estela."

There was silence. Námo spoke again.

"But she must face what comes," Námo said slowly. "As hard as this is, as painful and difficult to restrain ourselves and not pluck that child from her pain, she must do what must be done. For I believe that her line and her fathers have a part to play in the Battle for Arda, and the End of All Days."

No one could speak. Until Nienna did.

"Is there no mercy?" her grey eyes spoke of anguish. Tears flowed harder. "Has she not suffered enough? She has been ripped from the safety of her cradle, forced to be shunned along with her kin, unable to see many loved ones and witnessing their demise, one by one, in terrible agony. Now she has fought tirelessly to save others- surely that is enough?" she was pleading.

Námo looked pained. "Nienna, you know this is not just about one person- even though she has suffered so much. I can promise you that she will have enough strength to go on- she has after all this time, and we are able to help in this- but to redeem others and to set in motion what will topple darkness and save this world from chaos, Estela must play her part before she finds peace."

"And what of Gil-Galad?" Nessa demanded. "What of his feelings towards her?"

"His feelings towards her are no accident," Námo frowned. "I do not believe that this is a coincidence. She has too important a role, and so does he. Both are inheritors of the Line of Finwë, although of different branches born from different wives of the patriarch."

"And they have both been so alone," Nienna whispered. "For so long, enduring such agony and torment." Her tears flowed.

"But not without hope," Vána pointed. Her eyes were bright now, before they had the pitying, compassionate sorrow of a child. Now they seem almost excited. "Now surely, there is hope?"

"Yes, but how much shall she endure?" Nienna countered. "How much does she have to bear?"

"That," answered Námo "is the question."

A horrified moment of contemplation entered for all the Valar.

Námo sighed. "Not even I know what trials she must endure. But they are not at the end. Estela's blood is among the most important the Eldar has ever yielded. Her line will help save Middle-Earth, and again play a part in the Battle of Battles."

"Her story will forever be counted upon as among the most dangerous, most painful and most courageous of all the elves," The Queen Varda finally spoke. Her eyes glimmered. They became such bright points that any mortal would find it painful to look upon. She sighed. "Is there no way to avoid this?" she addressed the question both to Námo and to her husband.

"Not if hope is to be kept alive," Námo said sternly. "Countless others require her to perform her role. Not just the dead souls of her kin. If the future pieces of the game is to be set to win against Darkness, then Estela must stay."

Tulkas frowned. "There must be something we can do to help her- to help _them._"

"I agree with you Tulkas," Aulë spoke. "But we can give her strength. And she has been given gifts many earthly beings cannot hope to match." He sighed. "She is her grandfather's grandchild. His blessings are also hers as are his curses."

He shook his head. Fëanáro had been the greatest of his pupils once. He had been the most promising, not merely in skill, but in many ways. Was this his fate? To be betrayed by his dearest friends, even if they were deceived or took the path of Darkness through choice?

Aulë's strong shoulders slumped. His skin, the colour of the earth that he was a master of, darkened. He felt Yavanna place a gentle, nurturing hand upon his shoulder and raised his head once more.

"Estela is hope," he finally said. "And yes, I believe the grandchildren of Fëanáro must be given a chance to show the world and regain the happiness they were so cruelly robbed of. And all must be given the chance for redemption- even if they waste it."

The way Morgoth, then Melkor, had wasted his.

"Let her have peace, though," Yavanna said sternly. "Even for a time. Let them all have peace."

"Yes, let them have peace. They must know some measure of happiness before they all suffer again," Aulë said.

"Then it is agreed," Varda said. "Surely no one objects?"

And no one did object. But then someone spoke:

"What of Telperinquar?" it was Irmo.

Nessa frowned. "What of him?"

"He is Fëanáro's grandchild as well," Irmo explained patiently. "An inheritor, just as Estela is. Do you think _he _will ignore that?"

Tulkas leaned forwards again. "You sense something from him?"

"I sense something from them all," Irmo replied. "And I do not believe that Telperinquar has a lesser role any more than Estela does."

The Valar regarded this in silence.

"We must be patient," Yavanna said. She stirred and it sounded like the stirring of leaves. Her gown appeared made out of earth and moss. "Let them have peace, at least before the storm hits them," she was almost pleading.

"Yes," Nienna agreed.

"Until the wind blows and the storm changes and the leaves wither and fall." Manwë agreed.

And so the council agreed. And thus, they dispersed.

* * *

_**Weellll, looks like there's more to the story after all!**_

_**Things are about to get even rockier and juicier (pardon my metaphors)! Of course we have a case of dramatic irony- if you've read the canon. But what does the future hold in store for Estela? The old woman promised daughter she had to keep safe (and is she going to get married?) and now they speak about Estela's line. What are the Valar planning? What's in store for them- Gil-Galad and Estela? **_

_**What about the 'other ellon' that secretly loves her?**_


	22. Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-Two

Estela walked far from the camp.

"My lady!" it was Vorondo.

"What is it?" she asked concerned. "I was merely wondering if you are alright." Vorondo explained. She nodded. "Thank you for your concern but I am fine. Has Telperinquar contacted just yet?" Vorondo shook his head.

"No, my lady." He replied. "But the others. They're getting suspicious." She looked at him with piercing eyes. "Suspicious?"

"Well… they're spreading stories. Rumours of who you are." Vorondo waited desperately hoping she would order a withdrawal from the camp.

She thought silently for a while. "Let them," she said finally. "Talk is just talk."

"But if they should discover-"began Vorondo, alarmed.

"Then they will discover. Why must it concern us? It will happen sooner or later, and fate has taken its course. The Valar have made their decision. Our fate is written in the stars." She glanced up at the sky.

"My lady," Vorondo was rowing alarmed.

"It is the vow we all took, Vorondo." Estela replied. "The vow to do no ill to any innocent and to keep Middle-Earth and their inhabitants alive and free of Darkness. That is what we all swore. And that is the fate written in the stars. We are not Men, Vorondo."

No they were not. But Vorondo had other reasons for wanting to get Estela away from this camp.

"But what if they should pose a threat to us?" Vorondo asked. "If they discover what we've tried to keep hidden for so long- they could pose a threat or reject any offer of aid- even if it means death. Thingol did. Your father experienced that."

Estela sighed. Sighed at the memory and the fact that Elu Thingol was in fact her great-grand-uncle as well as a foreign king. They made such threats against themselves. She had no doubt that her grandfather was manipulated into the War of Wrath by Morgoth.

And speaking of which….

"Vorondo, just how many servants did you think Morgoth had?"

"Eh?" Slightly taken aback by this change of topic, Vorondo involuntarily took a step back. "He had millions."

"Not _orcs_." Estela said. "How many commanders did he have for his armies- the highest members of his circle?"

Startled by this sudden interrogation- as if it were a history examination- and the War of Wrath, or the War of the Jewels were an Age ago- Vorondo stuttered.

"Well-I-" he began. "There was Dragluin the Werewolf and Thuringwethil the Vampire," he knew that from the _lay of Lúthien_. "There was Ungoliant the Giant Spidre." Estela would remember that herself. Indeed her face hardened. "And there was Gothmog the Lord of Balrogs.

"And someone else," he continued. "I don't know who."

Estela's head shot up and her emerald eyes, desperate, pleading, looked up at him. "Who, Vorondo? Who can it be?" she was almost begging, yet again. Only this time for different reasons.

_Five Slaves_. The Old Woman had said that.

"There were five." She whispered. "And one is still alive."

Vorondo inhaled sharply. "That cannot be. Morgoth is defeated. All his servants are slain."

"The orcs?" she countered as quickly as he had finished.

"Useless pieces of filth, that exist here and there and pick at the scabs of wounds, hiding in dank rotten holes," Vorondo said dismissively.

"But still they are not in decline," Estela said. Vorondo snorted.

"Imin, Iminyë, Tata, Tatië, Enel and Enelyë have long since disappeared into myth along with the rest of the unbegotten." Vorondo exclaimed. "Morgoth might not be myth, but does that mean that orcs need him in order not to go into decline, any more than we do?"

"Not _him_," Estela said. "But a Dark Lord."

Estela had no idea where those words came from but the moment she said it… She felt her own shock filling her with ice.

"What…" Vorondo was unable to speak. "What do you mean, 'a Dark Lord'?" He looked incredulous. "The only Dark Lord, there ever was, lies in the void, where the Valar have tossed him. There is no other, and there never will _be_ another, the Ainur and the All-Father will never allow such a cursed abomination, not as long as there is an Arda." He remained quite fierce about it. But Estela was shaking her head.

"I wish you were correct, Vorondo," she said. "But where do the King's Men get all these ideas from? To turn away from Eru- our All-Father and Creator? To turn against the guardians that raised their very island kingdom from the depths of the ocean? To hate one another and other races most of all? Where does it come from? After all that has happened, how could they forget their own history, their own past?"

Vorondo shook his head. "These are not the Men that set sail with your father's fosterling Elros. They are mortal- their lives are short and envy and pride is an affliction that besets many- especially those that do not remember what they have been given."

Estela looked aggrieved. "Yes," she said softly. "But a messenger spoke to me." She told him all that the 'messenger' had said. The old woman whom she believed to have been sent by higher powers.

Vorondo was, if possible, more incredulous than he had been before. "Unbelievable. You would believe her? The words of a feverish, rambling old woman who knows not what she says?"

Estela looked up at him sharply. "She knew what she said." She took a deep breath. "She also knew who I am." She sensed Vorondo recoil in alarm and shock.

"No," he breathed. _"How can she?" _He shook himself. "It is not possible-" "and yet it has happened." Estela finished. "This was no ordinary old woman from the race of men. Of that much I could be sure. And she vanished, literally, from my sight. No old woman could have done that."

Vorondo stared at her. She knew he didn't want to believe her. And she couldn't blame him, even with their necessity. She shook her head.

"Let's not talk about this now," she said. This was not a usual characteristic. Estela liked to deal with things sooner rather than later. "Go take some rest. We all need to sleep after a battle."

Vorondo nodded and she smiled at him, trying to give him the impression that there was nothing wrong- at least not anything that could not be solved easily. In reality, she knew it was a far bigger threat than anyone could imagine.

Estela watched him go, unease growing within her. Presently she felt another presence. "Is he that unhappy?"

Again it was Erei- the High King.

Since when did she think of him as anything other than the High King a great leader and warrior?!

He came over to her.

"_Aranya_," she responded. _My King._ She kept things formal.

"Don't call me that," Ereinion said sharply. "I don't care if you're cursed."

She took a step back. "No-" she breathed. "You-"

"I know what I risk, but it's no more than what you risked for every day of your life, all these centuries, ever since you left Valinor."

"What I-" She gave a harsh laugh unlike the one he had heard before the battle. "Yes it is." She didn't care if she sounded like she was contradicting the king.

"You are the chosen leader of the Noldor upon Middle-Earth and in times of peril, the elves all flock to you." She looked at him stricken, unable to comprehend his persistence. If only she knew what was to come.

"And you would have me bring Doom upon your head as sure as it will come to me, and possibly affect the other elves?" she exclaimed incredulously. She shook her head. "I cannot do that."

"And then what?" he demanded. "What will happen after the battle? Will you vanish, as you have always done, and that is how people will remember you?"

"No one knows my name anyway," Estela argued. "I told you, I don't fight for glory and fame."

He exhaled. "Then what do you fight for? And when will it end? When will it all end?"

His words struck her to the core. The future. She had always feared it outside of Valinor, ever since her forefather's death.

"Will you not keep some measure of happiness- allow it- not simply for me, but for yourself?" Ereinion whispered.

The future had ever been an unhappy thought in your mind. As one who followed her grandfather she was doomed either to be slain, or to fade in grief. And if she still lingered, she would forever be miserably anchored to the Outer Lands. As for death… Well, she would face the Doom of Mandos. Like her family- her parents before her in particular.

There was no joy. There was no hope. Not for her. She who gave hope to so many, had kept none for herself.

If she thought there was hope and light, and she gained strength through that, then she was wrong. There was nothing.

Suddenly, the world seemed plunged into darkness, crushing her, pulling her, drowning her, with no escape. All light was extinguished. And in the end she knew, tossed in the void he may be, but Morgoth had still won against them. Her family paid the price, and so did she. He had lured them into this trap.

It was like what he did with the children of Húrin.

But someone could still be saved. Many people could. As she said, she did not do it for herself. That thought gave her strength, no matter how little.

"There is nothing you, nor anyone else can do to save me," she whispered. "You only have yourselves to look to." She closed her eyes, and turned before he saw the tear seeping- she would not shame herself again, even if it meant turning her back from the High King and leaving without politely asking for his permission.

Taking deep, gasping breaths, Estela managed to get away. She walked as fast as she could, but unnaturally, uncharacteristically, she moved as if she were stumbling. Estela was among the most graceful beings on Arda, and yet the whole world had shifted and rocked itself beneath her feet. The small amount of stability she imagined would be there, was false.

She clutched at a tree trunk, and almost fell, collapsing. She wanted to stop. Many times she wanted to stop- to end there. Why did she not fade already? Why was she still there?

She could hear the sound of laughter as elves and humans celebrated into the night. Campfires flickered and spat, sending sparks in the distance, their warm glow a contrast to what she felt inside.

Her mother faded. Why couldn't she?

_Perhaps this is my Doom. _

"Does my lady need assistance?"

Estela started, and whipped around thinking it was a soldier or an aide from the camp, but the voice of the person caught up to her realisation, before she even got to look at him, and she somehow knew this was no ordinary elf.

He was tall, and his hair gold as a Vanya. But Vanyarin elves were rare upon Middle-Earth- the few that ever left Valinor could be counted by the fingers of one hand- Findekáno's wife, Elenwë among them- but although there were Noldorin elves with Vanyarin blood within them, there were few of their kind that actually left Valinor.

But this _ellon _must have been one of them. His hair was as gold and his eyes were so blue, they could almost hurt a human's eyes. His features were handsome and noble, even more so than the ordinary elf, by far. His figure was that of a warrior.

_I know him, _Estela thought. But she was certain she had never met this _ellon_ upon Middle-Earth. _Aman maybe… _

"I-" so startled and stunned by his appearance was she that she actually forgot what the question was.

"It is nothing to be worried about," she managed. "I am tired, I suppose."

"Ah," the _ellon _smiled. "And yet, it appears to be something more. Forgive me, but it did look like you were in need of assistance, or at least, someone." He came closer.

Estela suddenly realised why this person looked so familiar. With his handsome, chiselled features that no master craftsperson could ever sculpt, his tall stature and figure and his warm, appealing smile, this elf reminded her of her father. _No…_

The _ellon _smiled and moved next to her. "I must admit, that you have many worried for you," he said gently. "After all, it is terrible to have so many a burden on one so young."

"Young?" Estela raised her eyebrows incredulously. "I was born in the Age of the Trees. I have witnessed the birth of Man. I am by far, more than old enough." She said it without thinking. She could have given this person a clue on her age and thus her identity. But what did she care anymore?

The _ellon _smiled. "True," he acknowledged. "But if one were to count by _my _age, everyone would appear to be so _young_."

That was the difficult thing with immortals. They could be in their fifties and sixties, or aeons old, and one could never tell.

"Are you one of the unbegotten?" she asked. They were the first of the elven race to have woken by the light of the stars.

"What makes you say I am that old?" he asked.

She blinked. "You said-"

He smiled, cutting her off. She faded into silence. "I am older." He said.

_No. _That was not possible. No elf was that old. Unless this was not an elf, but-

Estela suddenly whipped her head, faster than she had done before. She turned her wide gaze towards the direction of the nearest elves around the campfire with some men. They had been there, seconds before. She had seen and heard them. Now they were gone.

Gasping, she turned to look at him, and almost fell backwards, if she had not been caught. His strong arms grasped her.

"Do not be afraid." He smiled. There was no danger, no slyness or malice in that smile. Still she began to tremble. Estela had never trembled like this since she was a child.

"You know me," he said softly. "You've met me, long ago. Do you not recall?"

"Who?" she managed before a series of images flashed through her mind.

She saw her father sparring in the courtyards. She thought it would be one of her uncles or Findekáno, but instead it was someone else.

Someone else with hair that shone so gold it made even a Vanya's appear duller in comparison. Whose blue eyes shone fiercely as he parried her father's sword-thrust.

Her father had an instructor. Someone who taught him the ways of the sword-master.

And it was no ordinary elf, but a Maia.

"_Eönwë?"_ she whispered not believing what she saw.

The Maia, a messenger of Manwë, King of the Valar, smiled at her.

She gasped. "_No_…" she couldn't even form words.

"I assure you, it is me," he said gently. His smile was warm- a smile, she thought, might have rubbed off on her father which she had then became familiar with.

"It can't be," she gasped. "How-" she choked off.

"The Valar have forsaken me," she finally managed. "All the Ainur have… The All-Father-"

"You have never been forgotten," Eönwë said firmly. "Nor forsaken. You who have done no evil, no harm save to Darkness, why should we abandon you?"

Estela was unable to speak. "How can you-" she managed. "No, this isn't real-" she started to shake.

"I assure you, it is." Eönwë said, grasping her tighter. Heat flowed through his touch going underneath her skin, warming her very being. She didn't even realise she was cold. "I came for a reason. You have never been forgotten."

"The Lord of Mandos-" she began.

"What will happen will happen." Eönwë was forbidden from speaking about the Judge of the Dead's prediction on Estela's trials. "But it does not mean you are forsaken. You who have done both good and great things." He gave her a quizzical look. "Did you truly think you have no future?"

"I-"Estela wasn't sure what she would say. "My future is in what I do," she tried to explain- to convince him, as well as herself. "My task in saving the innocent, in doing whatever I can, in keeping safe my friends and kin, in rebuilding the ruins of what has happened to this world, even from the threat of former allies and friends."

"I see," Eönwë raised an eyebrow. The leader of the Maiar looked sceptical. "And you do not believe you are entitled to something more, perhaps? Something the High King has offered you?"

Blushing madly, Estela stepped back. During the course of these few days, especially ever since she met Ereinion Gil-Galad, she was experiencing a whole range of emotions she had long since kept under control. Her friends knew her to be serene and level-headed. To be calm and sure. But now she was going from high to low and she was more uncertain than she had ever been since the end of the War of Wrath.

The Maia must have heard the conversations the High King had with her.

Estela shook herself. This was no way to behave! What if the Ainur were testing her?

"I cannot risk his life and his crown," Estela explained, slowly and clearly. "Nor can I risk his people's support of him, and endanger them in general- and all the Free Peoples in Middle-Earth. If he were to have me by his side, constantly, the alliance with the Wood-Elves would be endangered. Oropher was there in Doriath before it was sacked- by my own family, no less. He would remember." She was pleading with him to understand.

"I see," the Maia sighed. "So you would accept what opinion they have of you, before they even made it?"

"I-" Estela was incredulous. "I am the daughter and granddaughter of kinslayers," she exclaimed. "Can I blame them for not wanting my very existence, when they have lost their homes, their friends, their _families_, for three _jewels_?" Her emerald eyes were wide.

"There were two innocent boys," she whispered. "Among so many. And yet here I stand, living and breathing…" she was unable to go on.

"Have you not lost your family as well?" Eönwë asked softly.

Silence.

A tear fell from Estela's eye and fell down her cheek.

She could find nothing to say.

"Oropher had his wife," Eönwë continued. "He had his son. Elwing lost her father, her mother, her brothers. She fled to the Havens of Sirion, and gained a husband. She had two sons of her own- the boys your father and uncle raised, with your help. I am not saying that their loss is less than yours, but what about _your_ losses? What about the forefather you saw slain? What about the grandmother, the two grandparents, the other forefather and mother that you said farewell to? The aunts and cousins- the other kin? Do not forget you are of the Teleri as well," Eönwë said. "Of the House of Olwë. There was a reason why he stood up to your grandfather- him and his son. Arcalimar was your grandfather too," Eönwë's eyes burned a bright blue into Estela's soul. "Tell me your name," he said.

Estela blinked. This was not what she expected.

"Eruvandë Estela Nelyafinwiel." She said blankly.

"Eruvandë," the Maia mused. "The name your father gave you," he said. "And Estela- your mother-name.

"The former was given by your father. It, as you know, means "Oath of Eru," in Quenya, your cradle-tongue.

"But Estela comes from the Telerin dialect," Eönwë explained. "And from that tongue, the Sindarin one arose in Doriath. It means hope, but hope in Noldorin Quenya is Amátirë. Because Sindarin is a daughter-language, it has many roots and similarities with Telerin. You were named by your mother Estela- Hope- in the Telerin Dialect which comes from the word _'Estel'_. You were named in that tongue for a particular reason. Remember, your mother was the only child of Arcalimar, High Prince of the Teleri and heir of Olwë brother of Elu Thingol. You are his heir, just as you were Finwë's."

"My mother left Valinor to go with my father," she whispered.

"And with you," Eönwë said easily. "This was agreed on by Olwë and Arcalimar in case anything should happen and Fëanáro forced you to go. In any case your mother would have gone with you and your father anyway. But only after they did everything they could to try to stop him from taking you- and if it didn't work. Ask your cousin Galadriel if I speak the truth."

Estela was startled. This was against everything she had believed for over an Age. "I thought-"

"That the Teleri disowned you after what had happened in Alqualondë?" Eönwë scoffed. "That they did not want you anymore after what your paternal grandfather did in their Harbour City? No matter what he did and why he did it, the Teleri considered you their princess, did they not? They always did, think back on your own memories, if you do not believe."

Estela remembered their cheers, walking in the diamond-dust sands of the beaches barefoot, hand in hand with her mother, and her mother's father as well as his own father. She remembered choosing which design for which boat would be best- her grandfather declaring she was a prodigy, very much so, a true Teler, whenever she helped in the building and suggested details for the ships.

"That was a long time ago," she said numbly.

She felt Eönwë pull her up gently, his hand a warmth that restored life within her.

"Go to him," he nudged her in the direction of the camp. "The king will need you, perhaps more than anything."

She gave him an incredulous glance- to find that he was gone.

* * *

She walked tremblingly back to the camp. And asked to see the High King.

The elves standing guard didn't even blink or hesitate- to her amazement- and parted the flap for her to walk through.

Gil-Galad was sitting on his bed. He looked up (his forehead had rested upon his hands) when he saw her.

There was hope in those blue eyes. Hope and a burning longing.

She had to force herself not to flinch and flee.

In truth she was more terrified of this situation than if she were captured by Morgoth himself.

He stood.

"Well?" he asked. "Have you come to repeat what you've told me before? Or is there another reason for this visit?"

He tried to keep his face cool, but he felt that his feelings may have betrayed him.

"I-" she stumbled upon the words as she had never stumbled in anything else in life.

"I've come to-" she paused and took a deep breath. "Apologise firstly. I truly am sorry for whatever harshness and unkind words I said when we last spoke to each other, not long ago. And…"

She didn't know what to say. What could she say? That a Maia just appeared and spoke to her, telling her to speak to him, about… what? Not to run away?

She was uncertain. She had never done this before.

When she was little in Valinor, it had crossed her mind- very fleetingly- that she would be married someday. But it had been a distant thought and she did not bother to dwell on it as she had other things to occupy herself with.

Then after she left, during the War of Wrath, she had put any thought of a normal future behind. Firstly there was no time, they could never settle down- maybe their followers, but the Fëanorians themselves- they were considered kinslayers. And their lives were considered chaotic and turbulent at best. Considering the unhappy lives they led, and the ending of her own mother, she never thought that anyone could ever look at her with desire.

And not to mention, the idea with marrying into a cursed clan… And there was the fact that neither of her parents ever brought it up- they tried to shield her and kept her safe in every way, but neither did they try to delude her with the idea that she might have an ordinary life someday, with marriage and children.

It was not thought of, not considered.

She didn't even know what to say.

She never felt so inexperienced and childish in her life.

She opened her mouth and readied herself.

"I-" she began while Ereinion unexpectedly stopped her and placed his hand on her mouth.

"Don't," he breathed. His voice sounded raspy and strangely lacked air. "Not another word." His eyes shone and he leaned forwards, moving his hand to pull her closer-

When a soldier's voice sounded outside the tent, making her jump and pull back out of his arm's grasp.

"My king!" someone shouted. An _ellon_ poked his head in.

"News from the shores. For the lady shieldmaiden as well. Ar-Gimilzôr is dead."

"Dead?" she gasped.

"Dead?" he repeated incredulously, his annoyance forced to be placed on hold.

"How?" he demanded.

"Apparently he had a heart-attack. The fleet was forced to dock far from seeing distance of Middle-Earth when he complained about agonising feelings in his chest, then he claimed he couldn't move his right arm and his spine stiffened. He collapsed and started to choke and at the same time, attempted to vomit with no success. They took him to his cabin. He died not long after."

The soldier himself sounded out of breath.

Estela turned her wide eyes to Ereinion.

"We should summon a meeting," the High King managed to say. "Do the others know about this?"

The _ellon _nodded. "They are making their way back to the meeting tent as we speak. They have just been notified."

Ereinion nodded and, looking at Estela left the tent.

* * *

"So he's dead," Ereinion said heavily in the tent.

Celeborn frowned. "Who succeeds him?"

"His eldest, Inziladûn," Estela responded before anyone else. Once again she was her calm, cool, controlled self.

They stared at her.

"How did you know?" Elrond asked slowly.

She gave him a look. "I kept in contact with some of the Faithful in Númenor. Including the queen Inzilbêth. She is your niece after all," she nodded to Eärendur, Lord of the Faithful.

"Which is how you knew to find us," he said slowly. "Inzilbêth must have warned you."

"How?" someone choked.

She shrugged. "We gained each other's trust. She warned and smuggled the Faithful out of Númenor, I received them and made sure they entered safe refuge and sanctuary. Her son did the same." She made a face. "Her _eldest_ son," she corrected.

They all looked at each other.

"Does this mean," Celeborn said slowly.

"I do not believe a radical change to the old ways would be peaceful and advisable for the people of Númenor," she said slowly. "Too much has been done, and these are not the people that we once knew and sailed with Elros Tar- Minyatur." She invoked Elros' regnal name. "They are different. These have never known the Valar's grace, nor did they see the White Tree bloom and bear fruit."

"But you said that Inziladûn-" an elf began.

"Might not be at all antagonistic towards us," Estela said smoothly. "But many others including his brother Gimilkhâd, are the King's Men of his father. It will not be advisable to make radical moves such as sending emissaries to Númenor and making treaties with them. Nor is it safe for any elf or member of the Faithful, to return." She cast a sad glance towards Eärendur who missed his home.

They knew she was right. He would never return.

And she pitied him, because she knew how it felt.

"At least," she said slowly. "We need not be so antagonistic towards then either."

They murmured in agreement. Not long after, Estela left the tent.

She needed to console Inzilbêth and offer her sympathies. There may not have been much love between husband and wife, but they must have loved each other at some point and she had had two sons by him and a grandson. Estela would do the right thing.

"She knew the queen," Oropher said slowly. "And I've noticed things about her which are different from any other elf. But there are similarities with certain elves and that is what burns at me the most. Who is this maiden? She never even gave us her name."

"Her name is Estela," Ælfnoð of the Éothéod replied, looking puzzled.

"Estela," Thranduil breathed and looked at his father.

"Hope." He mused. His lips quirked into a smile. "How fitting."

* * *

Estela sighed. He was dead. The King who commanded a nation with such hate, who ruled in strength of will alone, was gone.

And his son, his golden wonderful son, was king in his place.

But his wife Inzilbêth was in mourning. Not so much for a lost love and dead husband- she said goodbye to their love long ago- but for a life wasted.

"I loved him once," she said grey eyes clouding over. "I wept when he wasted his life. But our love turned to ash as love no longer became the most important thing in his world, but hate."

Hate. And fear. Envy as well. What horrible a way to live one's life, and what an ending. His life was truly wasted.

There was no hope for him in the Halls of Mandos. There may be even more hope for her kin than for Inzilbêth's husband.

But at least, she reflected, there was hope for Inziladûn- and for Númenor.

And with that her spirit lifted.

* * *

Outside in the wood, something stirred.

"Is it she?" something asked in a guttural, harsh voice in an even harsher tongue.

"Yes, it is she," Another of his kind replied.

The speakers had ash-coloured hides or grey or even sickly green, with a slimy, mucus-like substance coated upon it. They had little hair, and that came out in sharp locks. Their teeth were diseased, infested with numerous deadly organisms which would serve useful if they bit someone. They were stunted and bent sharply with strange bones.

Yes, they were orcs, their eyes glinting with malice and desire to kill. But they also showed fear, they were afraid to take her even with wargs.

They were afraid of the whole family-stories had been told, when they were still learning the ways of evil, of that family and all they were capable of.

Of her father most especially, and his daughter, who had whispers spread of them- of swords that shone and moved like lighting- but even faster, of earth shaking when they danced the death-dance as the orcs called it. Of raging cries that meant the orcs were lost. Of darkness destroyed and disaster and near-extinction for the orcs.

They were nearly lost. It was a miracle they could recover. They wouldn't have if it weren't for _him. _

The orcs snarled. They knew they could never hope to win against her. But she, their master said, had one weakness and one alone.

Everyone else.

The orc that lead grinned maliciously, and licked his thin, grey lips with his foul and snaking tongue. He was given a plan

Which was lucky as they couldn't come up with one themselves.

* * *

Estela opened her eyes. Something was not right.

She was on edge as she would be ready to leave before dawn the next morning.

But still she felt there was something that wanted to prevent her from leaving the way she wanted.

And it was not friendly.

She couldn't sleep.

She got dressed and left the tent.

She hated the darkest nights- it reminded her of Ungoliant's unlight the time she killed her forefather.

There were few stars out and no moon.

She stilled and leaned against a post- before she heard a cry.

She ran as fast as she could to the direction of that noise.

It registered to her that she was going further and further from the campsite than she thought it came from.

It occurred to her that something was indeed, very, very wrong.

And she halted when she came across a clearing.

It was Maltariel- and she was bound together, sitting on a rock. Her cheek had a large gash that bled profusely. Estela felt cold rush over her.

She was gagged though, so where did the noise come from, if not from her. But there was something not quite right about the gag itself- it was not tied properly, like it had hastily been retied.

The reality slammed into her, before Maltariel communicated to her in her mind, before the orcs emerged from their hiding places behind the trees.

It was a trap.

_Run, just run! _Maltariel's voice screamed into her mind.

Only that she wouldn't leave her.

So when the orcs demanded she throw away her weapons or her friend's throat would be slashed like her cheek, she had no choice- even she could not get to her in time, before Maltariel was killed.

The last thing Estela saw was the nearest orc striking her and black, like Ungoliant's unlight once more.

* * *

Maltariel had gone to bed early.

There was a goblet of wine- mulled wine that she drank deeply before going to sleep.

But the last thing she remembered was how funny it tasted- it had an unusual bitter finish to it.

And she knew like all the others they came with, ate food that Estela's followers had prepared. So why did this taste different from what it usually tasted like?

She slept before she could continue that line of thought.

But when she woke, it was to a sharp jab to her rib. She started without even stirring from sleep. The bed beneath her was gone- instead it felt- hard and damp? There was also grass. Her eyes focused on her surroundings.

It was night.

And she tried to move but she couldn't. She realised she was bound. She tried to call for help, but she came to realise that there was something foul-tasting and smelling in her mouth. A rag, used to gag her. She panicked.

An orc came up to her and sneering with a dark glee, loosened the gag. But then he slashed her cheek with a crude stone knife. She cried out in pain and shock.

He quickly tied the gag again, though she kicked out at him. When Estela came running, she knew what it was all about. It was too late.

And now Maltariel was running through the forests, after the orcs, cruelly released her without Estela- the friend since childhood.

Screaming, she charged right into the middle of the camp, before Vorondo caught her.

"What is it?" he asked harshly. Fëapoldon came up behind her. "What's wrong?"

She managed to gasp something out. Cursing and shaking his head, because he could not understand her, Fëapoldon suggested to Vorondo to go inside her mind- but Galadriel Lady of the Light, had beaten him to it.

Images flashed through Maltariel's mind. Images of being kicked and gagged, of the sharp flash of pain across her cheek, of the rough cloth being stuffed harshly into her mouth, and of Estela running across the clearing as they knew she would. Galadriel's face was white when she finished.

"What is it?" the High King had emerged.

Maltariel couldn't even curtsy, white as she was, in shock and terror of what would happen to Estela.

Gil-Galad looked at Galadriel.

"She is gone," Galadriel whispered. "She has been captured."

Lightning-cold, shock and fiery heat at the same time, slammed into Ereinion.

"Who?" he whispered through frozen lips. "Who?" his throat seemed to be filling with ice.

"Estela," Galadriel whispered.

The ice reached his heart. The horror and dread was too incomprehensible to process.

_No, no, _NO!

The High Elven King gave a cry of shock, agony and horror and fell to his knees.

* * *

**_Really sorry for the unusually long wait- I know you've been waiting to find out what's happening next, but I've decided to move things up a little- I know no one would be able to bear dialogue for too long! But things would be happening and this will soon lead to one thing and another- and oh, yes, we will be seeing more of Celebrimbor after this! As for Estela's names- her mother-name is Estela, if she were Sindarin she would be Estelië or Estelë- but I think that Estela is easier to pronounce. Furthermore Telerin might have been the mother-language of Sindarin, but it still has differences surely. If she were named that in Quenya her name would be Amátirë, but she is also Telerin royalty. Her father-name is Eruvand_****_ë_****_ and it means"Oath of Eru" in Quenya. In an English version, her name would be Elizabeth- does that spoil the mystical quality a bit? I'm sorry. _**


	23. Chapter Twenty-Three

_**Warning- The rest of the story is fine, but this is rated M. Only this chapter, and you'll laugh if you figure out why, - it has graphic content, but not what you would expect. So summary- she finds a way to escape and almost succeeds, because **_**someone**_** is waiting for her. Oropher, Thranduil and the others- well, everyone, finds out the truth. If you want to skip, go ahead. If you're brave, by all means, go and see- haha!**_

Chapter Twenty-Three

Estela woke to the coldness of iron on her wrists. Groggily, her eyes came into focus while she tried to clear her mind.

Instantly, she realised that she should feign unconsciousness. It was the best thing to do, if she wanted to remain ignored and unharmed.

She lay on her side on a stone slab, like an altar, she thought, and it chilled her. Her wrists were bound but not her feet. Yet as many talents as she had, there was little hope of escape. Her surroundings were dark and dank. She had no idea where she was.

Orcs lumbered and hankered around. They squabbled and growled at each other. They sneered and screeched. They looked like ordinary orcs. None seemed more intelligent or stronger than the other. Their skins were varying, from sallow shades, like sickly green or dull grey, to burnt-black to red and black mingling together. They were all stunted and twisted, none stood straight and tall as an elf or a human. There was no sign that there was a leader amongst the group.

So who or what could have come up with the plan to kidnap her- by taking Maltariel hostage?

She didn't see or hear Maltariel either. How did they know she was her closest friend apart from Itarillë? Her existence- and the names of the followers of her kin- was kept so secret, not even other Fëanorians knew anything about their kin's followers- not out of mistrust, but to minimize risks. Special care was given to the children of the sons of Fëanáro.

How did they know? A chill swept through her worse than anything. She thought she could fear nothing anymore, but now…

An orc arrived. He was taller than the others and he bared his teeth and growled while they all grovelled and shrank back, while others also snarled in an attempt to show bravery and resistance.

The orc marched over to the slab. Now Estela would rather not have the indignity of being kicked or struck awake, and she glared pointedly at the orc, but also subtly, with both ice and fire.

The orc stared and leered.

He laughed a harsh, guttural laugh. "Lucky, en't you?" he sneered in Westron.  
The Mas'er don't want you dead, yet." He laughed again. "You'd be far more useful to 'im alive." He bared his diseased and pointed teeth.

The master. So these orcs were definitely working for someone. Chillingly she remembered the words the old woman (or was she a Maia) had said to her.

Although there was no confirmation, this someone had to be powerful enough to bring the orcs to him. In no part of history, in no Age, no moment in time, had any being or beast ever made dealings with dark creatures such as orcs or wargs- there were no alliances- not unless there was something-or someone- holding them together, a supreme leader who united them under fear or the purpose of seeing a world under their rule. Someone like Morgoth. But Morgoth was long gone…

Why all of a sudden, did the Kings of Númenor turn so suddenly against their fellow man- not just the elves and the Valar? But the Ilúvatar as well? And now they decided to attack and conquer parts of Middle-Earth and subjugate all peoples, including their own race? They had been going into decline for some time, but only now….

There truly was an evil force at work, rising above to the horizon, ready to blot out the remaining light in the world.

"Who is your master?" she asked, trying to put acid in her tone.

The orc jeered. "You should know, 'e's the one who got yer father, and now 'e wants to meet yeh." He threw back his head and roared laughing, the other orcs did the same, though few were intelligent enough to know what they were laughing about.

Estela felt ice fill her from the strands of her hair to the tips of her toes.

So the old woman was right. Her instincts told her so anyway, but now…

She had to warn them. She pretended to collapse.

The orc made a grunt of disgust. "Prissy elves," he growled. "Skarky, keep a guard. The rest of us 'r' leavin'." He grunted and the other orcs moved out.

She waited, her eyes sightless as they left. The orcs grunted and shoved one other as they went.

The orc left- Skarky, she assumed- grunted and sat down on a rock. His back was to her, so she could easily move her eyes around and survey her surroundings.

She was definitely in a fortress. Stone columns and arches- no orc could have built that- it must have been made by dwarves, she thought- no, _elves_. Furthermore, Noldorin elves. She could tell by the craftsmanship.

But this was no time to be astounded by everything. How was she going to get out?

There was an exit route- a tunnel where the orcs had left, but who was to say what was guarding on the other end of that tunnel? And how many were guarding it and the fortress as a whole? Where was the way out, how would she get there quick enough and get herself to safety, even without the orc left behind and her chains.

She looked at her hands and assessed the weight of the cuffs and the chains that linked them to the blocks of stone which held the slab on which she lay- she realised in shock that it _was _an altar. A place of worship- to the Ilúvatar- and she saw the statue of Aulë- definitely a dwarvish chapel where they once prayed. But it was in ruins and parts of the stone were crumbling, most of the ornaments and holy images were deliberately shattered and broken. And she lay chained onto an altar. The sacrilege was enough to make her shudder in horror.

But more than that, was the fact that she had interacted with dwarves, in actual fact, more than any elf normally would. While the rest of the elves- including the Wood-Elves- did not hold them to high esteem, the Fëanorians were smarter than that, and were long since humbled by their experiences. The dwarves soon learned they were different from other elves and they shared many things in common. They traded with one another- which may have saved their lives.

So Estela would know of a way out. There was no sign that this was one of the fortresses she helped build, but she knew what Dwarves wanted with their chapels. Aulë as the centre theme, for one, and a secret door for the priests to enter…

Always behind the statue.

A loud snorting, yet wheezing sound interrupted her thoughts. She turned her head and saw that the orc standing guard had nodded off. If now was the perfect time to escape, then…

But she could not go. Her chains bound her hands to the altar. They didn't bind her feet, for some reason, however.

So whatever she did was limited to her feet. Inwardly, she groaned. But that was before she saw felt something on the side of the desecrated altar.

* * *

"What?!" Telperinquar roared.

The audience cringed. Telperinquar couldn't even begin to process what needed to be done.

"Did anyone," he went dangerously slow in his speech, "Ever think about tracking the orcs soon after they took her away?"

There was a moment of dooming silence.

"We tried, my lord," someone stammered, "but the tracks soon faded. We suspect sorcery-"

"Sorcery?" He demanded. He could laugh if the situation wasn't so bad. "Sorcery? Orcs can't build a decent house, let alone conjure up a spark with magic or something more!"

"The princess said-" someone began. Telperinquar turned his gaze- blue and as bright as Gil-Galad's but in a lighter shade, towards the unfortunate speaker who quailed.

"Go on,' he said dangerously. "Tell me what the princess said."

The group looked at each other. Alwion, a favourite of Telperinquar and Estela's, looked nervously at them from Telperinquar's side.

The elf stammered something about what Estela had said, to come to the aid of the High King- _damn him_, Telperinquar thought _and the men and those Wood-Elves!_\- and what she had said about Morgoth's slaves.

Telpe- what Estela called him for short- shook his head in disbelief and dismay. It wasn't like his cousin to act upon such flimsy information- and widely disputed at that, _and_\- what she normally would have taken into account- illogical.

"It's not like her," he muttered, closing his eyes and turning around. "It's not like her at all. _Damn _them. She came to their aid, and now…" he turned sharply towards the crowd. "Did anyone discover her identity?"

They cringed. "Her name-"

"_What?!_"

"But only that," Fëapoldon said hastily. "Not whose daughter she was."

He nearly sagged against the wall. His blue eyes flashed. "What about Gil-Galad?"

They all looked at each other. "And Oropher?" he demanded. "And Amdir? And the humans? How did they react?"

"The High King went white," Fëapoldon reported. "He immediately went into action and ordered a search party. Lord Elrond or Rivendell did the same." _Elrond, _Telperinquar thought darkly. He would have a word with that half-elf.

"They kept searching, the High King was especially desperate for some reason," he didn't dare tell Estela's cousin what the reason could be. "But no trace could be found. The Lady Galadriel-" _Artanis, _Telperinquar thought bitterly. "-believed it was sorcery that covered the tracks. Someone, she believes are in league with the orcs."

Telpe frowned. "Dark Númenóreans?" he asked swiftly. But immediately discounted the thought. They held everyone else in contempt- elves they envied, and orcs they thought of in disgust. No sorcerer from the island-kingdom would do that- would they? After all, there had been no pilgrimages to Meneltarma- the sacred mountain of Númenor. The White Tree, seedling of Telperion, withered. Sanctity was forgotten by the Númenóreans but would they really consider allying themselves with the most foul and evil of enemies left in Arda?

"The Lady does not believe it to be them," Fëapoldon said softly. "And neither does Lord Elrond. But there is more than orcs at work."

Telperinquar clenched his fist and squeezed his eyes shut. "Distract them," he said finally, opening his eyes which had a fierce light. "Alwion take two divisions and put them to work setting a false trail for the others- I do not trust them and I will not let them get hold of my cousin," he said firmly. "The next eight divisions are to prepare themselves. We move out to search for her." He said slowly. He calmed himself.

They nodded and left the room. He didn't even watch them go. How could he?

But what if Estela was right? What if there was a darker force at work?

* * *

Ereinion strode back, muddy and soaked in places and threw down his spear. Aeglos fell with a clatter on the ground.

"No sign," he said. His eyes held madness in their depths and despair. "No sign at all."

Galadriel closed her eyes. She was not visible to the other elves in the campsite, but she was there- watching.

Ereinion sank onto a log and closed his eyes. Despair was written all over his face. Galadriel did not take her eyes off him.

He was in love- and no doubt that it was Estela.

A while later, Oropher and Amdir arrived on the scene, with Thranduil following suit. Elrond looked up sharply from where he was sitting with the High King.

Galadriel spoke to him in her mind.

_Come with me._

Elrond rose and left the campfire.

"What do you propose?" he asked warily, eyebrow raising.

She closed his eyes. When she opened them and gave him a long look, he seemed to understand what she wanted to do.

"You cannot want-" he began

"It is what we must do," Galadriel murmured. "Surely she has proved her worth enough? Whispers of her deeds, stories of the like of legend, have spread and all know of her. It is time, to tell her tale- a story like no other. If they wish to punish and slander her for the sins of the fathers, then they are not worthy of saving."

Elrond looked at her and sighed a heavy sigh. "Where do we even start?" he exclaimed.

Galadriel gave him a sad smile. "Why not the beginning?"

Telperinquar's eyes were as blue as Ereinions, and as bright- as mentioned- though they were paler in shade. And now they scanned the surrounding forest at a frantic rate.

The trees would know, he thought. He dismounted his horse. Reaching his hand out, he touched the nearest tree trunk.

His mind went onto the tree. In answer, the tree responded to his touch- both mental and physical and the leaves ahead shivered, as if touched by wind. Telperinquar relaxed.

He asked the tree what it had seen and heard- if there was a female elf that had been taken by the orcs.

The tree- a great oak- rustled its leaves in reply. A rush of mental images and movements went forth into his brain.

He saw Estela confronting the orcs, them grabbing her, and binding her, carrying her away…

Into that direction. He turned his gaze into a hollow. The tree told him that some sort of magic had been cast, so no one would be able to track her.

He rose, and thanked it, gripping his sword in its sheath. When he reached the path, he drew it and the blade seemed to glow on its own accord.

He went forwards, his blue eyes glowing dangerously in the dark. They would regret this, he did not fear them.

* * *

Oropher sat back in shock. So it was true. Just as he suspected.

"How is this possible?" he whispered. "There are no mention of her in the records, of any kind?"

"They took great care," Elrond said softly. "They were determined not to let her take part in that particular war. And so she didn't."

"Why did she help us?" Thranduil asked.

Celeborn grimaced. There really was no going back now.

"To know your answers," he said quietly. "You must start at the beginning."

Galadriel's lips quirked. It was very similar to what she told Elrond.

"In the Age of Trees, in Valinor, Nelyafinwë son of Fëanáro, later known to be Maedhros, firstborn of the Seven, had despaired." She pursed her lips. She had been close to this cousin, as he had married another cousin she considered her sister. "One by one, the sons of Fëanáro save for Tyelcormo, the third son, known as Celegorm, and the two twins, had married. All had been happy, but only most had produced offspring.

"Nelyafinwë had married, long before, to the daughter of Arcalimar, firstborn of Olwë brother of Elu Thingol." She smiled sadly. "It was a happy union and all in Valinor had celebrated. The Teleri gave their blessing."

Thranduil looked incredulous. Galadriel noticed his look and said, "Did you really think that any would have followed Fëanáro had he not been beloved before whatever madness took root? He was the most skilled and the most brilliant- he never thought himself as being higher than the rest, and they loved him for it. Alqualondë, Haven of the Swans, was his achievement. Long before he sowed chaos and set fire to the streets, he had raised them to the skies, and gave beauty and form to the great cities of the Falmari. That was his accomplishment. And thus, the Houses of Finwë and Olwë had been close and in their bond was love and friendship. And it was with great joy that two of the sons of Fëanáro wedded two maidens of the Falmari- a lady of a noble house, and the daughter of the High Prince."

And so Galadriel told the tale. The listeners were spell-bound. She spoke of the longing they had when they struggled to bring forth a new life. She spoke of Maedhros' journey to Taniquetil to beg the Valar, to help them. He and his wife had despaired. She told them of the Ring of Doom, the Máhanaxar that convened soon afterwards and of the Fëanturi's response. They all looked each other when she spoke of that. As they should, they knew what was to come.

And so she paused before continuing. The prophecy had been fulfilled, the princess had given birth to a daughter when Telperion shone so bright, a mortal man would have been blinded. She told them of Estela's happy childhood- and her status as heir to both Houses- and both peoples.

She spoke of the childhood she had, spent on the shores of the Falamari, building ships- or assisting in the building- and learning to write, read and other crafts in Noldorin cities which she excelled. They had high hopes for her- and the festival in which Aulë came to announce Morgoth- then known as Melkor- had been released. She told them of the fear, the shock, the visit Melkor made to Fëanáro and the slaying of Finwë in Formenos- all of which Estela had witnessed first-hand- what she saw through her eyes- the eyes of a child- her reaction and the rage she witnessed her grandfather had succumbed to, finally reaching the peak of madness, and the fight between both grandparents- Fëanor and Nerdanel- of which writers had chronicled, but mentioned only the twins and not the grandchild Fëanor insisted on bringing to his wife's protests. She told them of the meeting between Olwë, his son and the other members of the Telerin royal family and the eldest sons of Fëanor- and the shock, terror felt by Olwë and his family when they learnt that Estela was to accompany her other grandfather to Middle-Earth. They exercised their rights, she told them, not just on the ships- that came afterwards- but on Estela, herself, Arcalimar's granddaughter. That was what truly enraged Fëanáro.

She told them the rest of the tale. Growing up in hiding, being hunted and in fear. Losing loved ones, learning with horror and shock, of the guilt of her kin, and the shame and horror she felt mingled with grief. Elrond told them that she had helped raise him- and Elros and taught him to heal. They both proceeded to tell them that Estela's mother had died- faded in grief, when she mistakenly believed both Maedhros and Estela were slain, when in fact, they had escaped from a terrible assault when Maedhros was unable to fight, for some reason. She then told of how father and daughter had separated.

By this point, everyone- from the pages and pot-boys of the kitchen tents and the soldiers, had gathered to listen. It was such an incredible tale of suffering, rejection and survival they had not even fathomed that such a thing occurred. But now the truth was laid bare and the secrets that the Fëanorians had fought so hard to keep was in the open.

Everyone went quiet, there was no noise save for the crackling of the fire.

"I never imagined," Ereinion began "that such a story existed- such a tale of a person's life- so much struggle and grief." There were murmurs of assent all around.

"I never knew," Oropher breathed. "Though I did suspect."

They all stared at the fire.

"Such pain," an _elleth_ whispered. "So much pain, she endured." There were mutterings all around. No one condemned her as a kinslayer- Galadriel made sure they saw it all through her eyes. She told them Estela's tale.

Ereinion's eyes rose from their sightless gaze. There was a burning in there, a steely will to do something. Galadriel knew she could not stop him.

She would have found it easier to stop Findekáno from rescuing Maitimo. She allowed her lips to twitch into a smile that was seen by none, save Celeborn.

* * *

This was the most foolhardy thing she had ever attempted, Estela thought as she stretched into an absurd position while the orc snored away.

His snores sounded horrific, she decided. Absolutely beastly. But she was better off if he was asleep rather than awake.

The orc gave a ridiculous wheezing grunt as she stretched out and managed to achieve the impossible.

She had been reaching for the sharp pyramidal stone imbedded in the edge of the altar's frame. It must have been in a pattern, long gone, but had escaped the notice of its desecrators. She thanked the Valar with all her heart and _fëa_ even if they had turned their backs on her.

She managed to reach and gave it a tug. It took more than what mortal strength would have been capable of, and for once, she was glad she wasn't mortal. It was lodged firmly in, but she felt it shift. She kept moving it from side to side, loosening the grip the mortar sealing had upon it. Finally she- very carefully as to not make a sound- managed to wrench it free.

She slowly, and very carefully turned onto her stomach. Her heart pounded and she gave a quick glance at the orc named Skarky to make sure he was still asleep. He grunted and snored on.

She had waited for a time, now. But now she needed to act.

The chains were pathetic, she decided. Years of craftsmanship had taught her to assess and recognize the quality and strength of metals. What's more, they had keyholes. She carefully inserted the sharp stone into the hole. She wormed it in, moving it around.

_Come on, come on, _she pleaded desperately, silently.

She prayed to the All-Father for help, to at least get her away from these orcs. Middle-Earth was in danger. For _them _at least. She needed to warn everyone.

She did as she was told. The old woman- now she was almost sure she was a Maia- had told the truth. She had been warned for a reason. Surely, that reason was to warn others, at least?

She shifted the stone and was rewarded by a satisfying _click. _Her heart soared, but it quickly skipped a beat as she feared the orc Skarky might have heard it. He just grunted and snored louder than ever.

But what if other orcs heard his snore? She pulled her hand out, quietly and as quickly as she could. She worked on the other wrist, heart pounding until she could slip it out.

Then she carefully set her bare feet onto the stone floor. It was cold and dusty for it had long since been cleaned.

Clutching the stone still, she crept behind Skarky and clamped her hand over his mouth and slit his throat. His eyes opened wide and a wheeze which couldn't be heard, from the now fully-conscious creature, was emitted as black blood oozed out of his throat. It wasn't too sharp that stone, but it was sharp enough and she was strong making it go deep. She stabbed him again.

She had to leave. Setting his body gently on the ground- she wasn't taking any risks- she tip-toed away, hurriedly. Fear hit her as she realised the floor was dusty- what if she made foot-prints?

But her fears were eased as she made her way towards the statue of Aulë. She knew where the door was- although the tall _elleth_\- as tall as Galadriel, if not slightly taller-had to crawl.

But she knew it was too easy. So she was on full alert. She was weaponless. She was not wearing armour.

And as she crawled through the tunnel- actually it was a passageway but she could barely fit- she realised she needed to think ahead.

Estela finally reached the end, and pried the door open gently. It was a hidden room, and therefore there were no orcs. But there were dwarvish weapons of a superior quality to orcs'. She crawled out, stood and grabbed a sword and tested its weight. She could not deny the quality, but she preferred elvish weapons of Noldorin make- who wouldn't? But she would have to make do.

What were weapons doing in a priests' room? But then again, dwarves knew they could easily be attacked and this room must have served more purposes than to prepare priests. They must have taken refuge here.

But she needed to get out.

She spotted another door, and pried it open, just a crack. She saw….

A long corridor. After waiting a few orcs came and went, but they barely came. She thought it was unlikely they knew there was another room.

She shrunk back on instinct when she saw a light burning-a torch, she thought at first, but Estela soon saw a sight no other elf ever saw.

There was a creature she spotted which bore a striking resemblance to the orcs she had seen, but was less… well, less grotesque, she supposed, although she still saw them as… well, how everyone saw orcs.

There was less twistedness to its features, she noted as the creature approached. It truly wasn't as ugly as the orcs she had seen and killed, but she still didn't envy its looks. This must be a female orc.

Her eyes widened in fascination, despite herself, as the she-orc came closer. She had hair, Estela saw, more than the males, but still wispy and thin, and she couldn't tell the colour. Her nose was pointed, but less so than the males, and her teeth were still sharp. The female's eyes, a dull ash colour narrowed and she wore strips of leather fashioned into a dress of sorts.

Of course there were females- they had to mate. But Estela wondered why there were so few- few enough that they had never been seen. She saw more dwarrowdams- female dwarves- than orcs. Was this a feature of other races, save Men? More males than females? Her grandfather had no daughters. She was the only female descendant and his brothers had one daughter to three sons each.

The orc moved forwards, sneering at another orc, whom she saw in the distance. He grunted as he came forwards, and she slapped him- whatever for, Estela didn't bother being curious.

The male grunted and growled at the she-orc. He snarled and she screeched. The two circled each other and Estela expected them to fight but…

She got something else entirely. It was something that she had never witnessed before in other beings but she was sure existed.

Mating was a very private thing for elves- so private- it was considered special and kept intimate between husband and wife, because it produced children. She nearly gagged and she flushed in mortification- of all things- to hear the grunts growls and other disgusting noises. She refused to look. Oh, this was really disgusting.

If she had been fascinated before, she had learnt too much. She didn't really want to learn that much about orcs.

She had to keep an eye out for a potential escape route. So she had no choice but to open her eyes, trying not to gag, her face heating at an incredible rate as she forced herself to witness a scene she had never wanted to witness in her entire lifetime. _Ugh_, oh when will this _end_?

The amazing thing was that other orcs came and went from time to time and no one bothered to look at the two unusually. They barely spared them a glance and acted neutral about it. Was there no shame, no modesty? But what was she thinking, these were orcs!

_Not necessary, _she thought, wishing she could cover her ears. _Not necessary at all. _

Elves would keep this in private. She wondered if they took special care to keep it private- where no one could stumble upon them. This act had been mentioned to her when she was old enough, but no one really elaborated- although they did say, when she recoiled, that it was actually supposed to be enjoyable. How in the world, she did not know.

This was an act of marriage for the Eldar. A ceremony would take place, and the bride and groom would arrive in a chosen place, usually somewhere sacred and beautiful. The bride would wear white- the colour of elven brides, though human brides' varied and dwarves preferred blue. They would exchange rings- Noldorin preferred to craft their rings themselves. And after the blessing, the father of the groom and the mother of the bride gave blessings and presents to the bride- by her father-by-marriage, and the groom, by his wife's mother. There would be a feast.

She wondered what her own parents' marriage ceremony and feast must have been like. Did they expect to do the same with her one day, before Finwë's death ended all that?

She never thought about it.

Who wanted to bind themselves into a family of kinslayers? Estela would have been an excellent catch for anyone and their family- the heiress to two Royal Houses- if nothing had happened and Melkor stayed captive.

She missed out on so much. Estela was never a romantic, and she was a realist when it came to accepting that no one would allow their son to marry into a family like hers- she accepted that long before she even grew up without anyone mentioning it. Did she want marriage- love? She was startled. She never thought about it. And to whom?

An image of Ereinion flashed in her mind. Him and his blue eyes. She never considered it but she admitted to herself, that if she could have, it would have been him. He did not need to know that, so she kept it to herself.

The two orcs finished their grunting business and both got up. Estela grimaced and wished she could look away- she was still keeping watch for an escape route- when the female straightened her clothes. The male grunted and rose. The two left.

She could have fainted in relief. But her ordeal wasn't over yet, disgusting as it had been.

There _was _a passageway. And she craned her neck when no one was about and shifted herself slowly, edging out, as quickly and slinking as silently as she could, blending in with the many shadows- hard, her hair was bright, and her eyes- and she crept away, hiding beneath the columns of a dwarven city underground, long-forgotten.

She made it outside.

But as hope dared to dawn onto Estela, she knew she was trapped.

A swirling darkness surrounded her and as it grabbed her and threatened to choke her, she heard a chilling laugh.

She started to do something she hadn't done since she was a child... she started to scream.

* * *

**_Definitely not what we would expect. Sorry if you didn't want that! Of course she should be grossed out, its _orcs_ for goodness' sake! But it does make her think, repulsive and sickening as it was, and what will this lead to? So now everyone knows- Celebrimbor/Telperinquar will not be happy! But their reaction isn't as negative- they know she isn't to blame, but only because Galadriel told them the story through her eyes and she saved millions- otherwise, they wouldn't have trusted her or wanted anything to do with her. They remembered she's Olwë's great-granddaughter and Telerin as well. _**


	24. Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Four

_The darkness encircled her, torturous, gripping, draining her lifeblood and _fëa_ it would seem. She tried to gasp for breath but found it was sucked away. She tried to scream and her voice was swallowed by the darkness swirling all around her._

_This was no mere sorcerer. That much she knew._

_The old woman was right. And as Estela was consumed by the darkness around her, devouring her like a ravenous beast, the maiden heard a voice. _

"**Spawn of Fëanáro." **

_The voice boomed so deep it threatened to tear her core in two- it must have only been spawned in the depths of Utumno, by the hands of Morgoth._

"**Beautiful creature… So fine… so fair. Child, why so surprised? Daughter of Nelyafinwë, you knew this time would come."**

_Estela wanted to scream, to sob, to do anything, no matter how weak and helpless, but she could not move, nor utter a single sound, for the power devoured her in and out. _

"**You cannot fight me," **_the voice whispered. _**"I am in you, wherever you go, I will follow, I will find you. You cannot escape."**

_No! She wanted to scream. She wanted to die, then. To flee to the safety of Mandos. But it would not let her, and she had been lingering for so long, she was cursed by the Judge himself, and forsaken, just as he had said. The Doom. _

_Forsaken. It was a false hope._

"**Yes," **_the voice breathed._ **"Forsaken. Forsaken by the very beings you prayed to and devoted yourself to following as a child. They repaid your trust, your love with… what? Curses? Doom? Pain? Your pain and suffering is of no consequence, they seek, child, to lay the blame on you and your kin. You will suffer, for what they failed to do… to rear the Foul One in. It was by their own doings, and they cursed you, for your kin trying to stop the carnage and destruction."**

_Images of people screaming and dying as orcs, trolls and other fouler creatures, including Balrogs raced through her mind. Fires burning thatched human homes, the destruction of Gondolin. Itarillë and her family fleeing the destruction. _

"**And you have done nothing," **_the voice purred. _**"Such a pity… such a pity…and still they cursed you."**

_The Valar truly had forsaken her then. To think they could be helping her, to think she could get away… _

_It was a false hope. That sharp stone, the passageway. She was truly forsaken. But she had been provided with false hope._

_It was her curse. The curse Námo Lord of Mandos had placed on everyone who followed Fëanáro, whether she chose it or not. No matter who he was before. It was cruel. She had never pitied herself, always loathing self-pity, but now she wanted to scream at the skies if she could see them. Why?!_

_The voice chuckled. _**"Yes," **_it hissed._**"Yes, child of Nelyafinwë, come. Come to me. Together we can accomplish greatness in all things. Together you will never be alone to feel the aching coldness of your heart. Together we can wreak vengeance against the heartless Valar." **

_But the Valar did not set those fires. The Valar did not destroy Gondolin. The Valar did not put her father to torment. And the Valar did not tell her kin to slay everyone who tried to stop them from gaining the jewels. The Valar did not kill her great-grandfather, nor any other member of her family. No matter what the fault, they warned them all. Her grandfather made his choices. He had been a good elf, but then he killed those people. Other members of her family did too. No matter how bad the world was, it was nothing compared to what it could become and she had seen a shadow of it- in Morgoth's time. What it was and what it could be again_

_The voice hissed in rage, this time. _**"You will see," **_it hissed. _**"You will see in time. I will make you. I will BREAK YOU!"**

_And Estela knew there was no escape. Something exploded in flame in front of her. The shape of a tall being, shadowed in black, but with eyes like burning orange-yellow flames. _

_The eyes of evil._

* * *

Ereinion saddled his horse.

"Going somewhere?" a cool, calm voice sounded behind him. He turned. It was the Lady Galadriel.

"Should it concern you?" he asked, continuing to saddle his horse, buckling it in place. He hoisted and fastened the saddle-bags. "She is your cousin after all."

"She is my goddaughter," Galadriel responded. Her lips twitched. "I stood with her parents during her _Essecarmë_. And no, I will not stop you. I only warn of the road ahead."

He paused in his work.

"I know the risks," he admitted. "I know that if I die, I will leave the Noldor without a leader. And they will likely diminish." He turned to face her. "But I cannot walk away. Not even if she has done nothing to save us."

Galadriel nodded. Her blue eyes held understanding.

He looked down. "I know this is not the action of a good king," he admitted. "But if I walk away, and leave her be, or let others try themselves, I will wish myself the Doom of Mandos a thousand times over." He shrugged and shook his head. "I cannot leave her to torment and death." He decided.

Galadriel nodded again. "Then go with my blessing. And may the stars shine upon you." She paused, quizzically gazing at him.

"You do not take a guard?"

At her words, someone else came into view. Someone with a stallion and armour already worn, sword in his scabbard. It was Elrond.

"Elrond," the king said irritably. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same, my King," Elrond said dryly.

Ereinion opened his mouth only to close it again. He didn't know what to say.

"Elrond," he shook his head. "This mission-"

"Is dangerous enough for a legion of elves," Elrond finished for him. "Which is why I must come with you."

Ereinion groaned inwardly. And more elves came. He was shocked to see, that one of them…

"You must be joking," he said glaring at one of the elves. "Your father would come to blows with us both."

It was Thranduil. He smirked at the High King. "My father was in favour of going himself." He grinned at the monarch who looked less than impressed and hid his embarrassment that the Woodland Prince would have caught him in a love-influenced state. "Something about repaying debts. She _did_ come to our aid, on countless occasions, and we would have died by the thousands if not for her."

There emerged more than enough elves. Ereinion sighed. He was never going to get rid of his kingship was he?

"You have no idea what is coming for you," he glared at them all, warning them.

"Strangely enough, sire," Thranduil said cheekily. "Neither do you."

* * *

Galadriel stared at the mirror in her tent.

She tried to find something. Something apart from the vision she had seen of Estela prior to Gil-Galad leaving.

But it was never clear.

The silver basin held water from her fountain, but it was what she brought in bottles and flasks- she did not have access to a continuous supply like she did back in Lothlórien, so she had to be careful.

"Do you see nothing?" Celeborn asked from where he sat.

"The path in unclear," she replied gravely. "A darkness grows, something I have never felt before, yet feels so familiar to the weight of my soul." She closed her eyes. "No one can tell what will come next," she said finally. "For what will come, will not be like any other time that we have lived."

Celeborn frowned. He sighed, shaking his head. "Nothing of her then? In the present if not the future?"

Galadriel shook her head. "No more than what I have already seen."

"I suppose you didn't tell Gil-Galad," he said sharply. "I have seen the way he looks at her- and now he goes to rescue her? What sort of madness is this, if it is not love?"

"It is love indeed," she replied dryly. "Although I doubt she would be eager to respond in kind."

Celeborn sighed. "Maybe if she stayed on Valinor," he said regretfully. Galadriel shook her head. "What has come to pass cannot be revoked," she said firmly. "And thus, cannot be dwelt upon as deeply as if they were options."

His eyebrow rose. "But surely you cannot deny the effect the War of Wrath has had upon her," he said. "She would have long-since been married by now, and happily so, but no one even pointed the way- her mother taught her to heal the most grievously wounded, she did not even stop to think that her daughter may be the object of affections someday."

Galadriel frowned. "The possibility was omitted. You know that," she said, coming to her cousin's defence. It was her favourite cousin, after all, the one she considered more sister than anything. "After and during the War of Wrath, who would have the time, the safety, and the desire to bind themselves with a cursed line, doomed by Mandos? After what he had said…" she shook her head. "She would have remained a prize had she stayed upon Valinor," she admitted. "But Fëanáro sacrificed all hopes for a future when he decided to pursue the past in whatever madness Morgoth concocted."

"And she is worse for it," Celeborn said. "What will happen to her, even if she is freed?"

Galadriel gave him a long and heavy look. "That," she said. "Is the true question."

* * *

Telperinquar glared his blue glare at the dark of the trees. His sword at the ready, the gleaming blade reflected enough light to seem as if it were the source. And it was deadly-sharp. Telperinquar had inherited his father's and grandfather's skill in the forge. Now he bore a deadly gaze at the looming darkness.

It could have been a scene from a play, an epic saga or painting. He was brave and whatever fear that may have existed did not appear to exist now.

Clenching his teeth in rage, he swore death to any that harmed the cousin he called sister.

And he cursed the cowards that took all and gave none.

The orcs that kidnapped her, for one, the measly alliance of Men and Elves, as the second, and the kin that decided they would all leave them by death or by departure to Valinor (supposedly, he wasn't even sure if they were allowed to arrive).

And now here he was, fighting his way to save Estela- all that he had left.

As for his cousin… who knew what was happening to her in that very moment?

He hated them all now, and once he found her, Middle-Earth and all of Arda be damned, he wasn't going to allow her to go out and suffer for these ungrateful folk anymore!

Rage flared up so brightly in him, in that moment he resembled Fëanáro, in all his courage. Say what anyone would like about the legendary elf, but he certainly was no coward.

And so Telpe marched on, daring any foul creature to jump out at him.

Suddenly he froze. He gave the signal for his companions to do the same.

All was still and quiet.

Until Telperinquar spun around so fast that even elves would have difficulty comprehending what was happening. His sword pressed itself upon the throat of another being.

And a gleaming blade of elven make pressed itself against his.

His companions drew their blades and so did the elf's companions.

Their faces were hidden in shadow. Not even blue eyes were visible, so they had no idea who was threatening them.

"Who is this that walks the same path, yet is neither friend nor foe?" Telperinquar's voice was acid.

"I might ask the same," Another voice echoed. This one was deep, majestic and powerful. "For it is not common to glimpse a Noldorin in the wild."

Telpe's lip curled without anyone seeing.

"Shall I answer that? If you were I, answers would not come so easily." His eyes narrowed. "When orcs stalk the land, invaders threaten Middle-Earth and friends prove ungrateful and one-sided-" he pressed the sword slightly more against the other elf. "One cannot find it in him to trust," he finished in a deadly voice.

"I have not betrayed my word," said the elf in a calm and even tone. "And I am no enemy. I am of the Noldor."

Telpe's eyes narrowed further. "And who might this be, a Noldorin that ventures out from the cities of Lindon and from the campsite where not long ago, his kin were fighting invaders off this land?"

"One who would not betray his friends," the voice said firmly. He stepped into the light of the stars and moon.

Telpe froze.

The _ellon_ in front of him was tall, strong and broad-shouldered. He radiated charisma and majesty and there was no doubt whatsoever that this was a strong, purposeful leader whom other would follow. Even though his garb was not those of a king, gazing at the nobility and regalness of his bearing and features, he had no doubt who this was. His eyes were as blue and bright as his own, but darker and his hair was so black, it captured and reflected light itself.

Gil-Galad Ereinion, King of the Noldor and High King of the Elves of Middle-Earth.

Telpe wanted to kill the elf.

"So, the High King has come at last," he said quiet venom in his words. "And he brings an armed guard, I see. Is it to rescue _her_?" he asked icily.

Gil-Galad was as courageous as Fingon himself. He was so calm, yet he could sense the other elf, hidden in the shadows was no less brave.

"Would you have me abandon her?" he asked, meeting the place where he suspected his counterpart's eyes would be with his own. He gave the signal for the others to lower their weapons, which they did so reluctantly.

"She does not need your help." There was venom in his words. "It is because of you and others like yourself that she has suffered and is now in mortal peril." He spat out the words. "It is because of you, her own kin and the creatures of Darkness that we have been left to suffer, languishing in agony, abandoned by our family, yet accursed by those that claim to be better!" he hurled those words at the listening elves. "It is because of you, that she feels she should continuously work to save others, risking her own life, even though she owes you nothing! And now is captured, possibly dead or in torment, and you would claim you have the ability to save her? I curse the so-called Free Peoples of Middle-Earth, who take all for granted and allow such sorrows to overcome those who step forward, like her, just as I curse my kin, and the Dark Powers that stole her from us!"

Ereinion stared at the shadow calmly. He put away his sword. So this was one of Estela's kin. He certainly gave strong hints just as Estela did with Thranduil, although he revealed nothing. A person who did not know would be puzzled. But Ereinion knew. All his companions knew.

"Curse us you may, but you will fail without our help," Ereinion said calmly.

"We have faced worse," Telperinquar snarled. "We do not need your help."

That, admittedly, was true. Estela had shown her capability, and he had no doubt this kin of hers could. But Ereinion wasn't going to give up without a fight.

"You will have a reason for accepting our help," he said, making it up desperately as he went, trying to appear calm.

"Oh, really?" the voice scoffed.

"You have hidden in shadows for so long," he said, an idea popping into his mind. "Aren't you tired? The Free Peoples know what you all have been doing, but no one knew who you were. What if they were to find out?"

"And treat us as pariah and dangerous beasts?" he scoffed again. "We are cursed, do you think they will treat us as any other elf?"

"Maybe," Ereinion said. "They will treat you as princes and heroes- great elves of old, that knew the crafts and lessons long-forgotten by all save your kin."

Telperinquar was suspicious.

"Why not trust them?" Ereinion asked. "You have proven yourselves worthy, and saved many others. Why endure in the shadows when you can rejoice and live in the light once more?"

There was silence. Telperinquar only grew more suspicious. "Do not seek to bribe me," he said icily. "I am not for sale, and neither is my cousin, and all those who have followed us for so long."

"It is not for sale if it is freely given," Ereinion said. "You have asked for no rewards. Yet you have paid with more than your lives. And now a threat looms over the horizon that will engulf all of Middle-Earth, including yourself, and your kin. You do not wish to join us- you blame us for what has transpired. That is understandable, and you do not easily trust. Understandable also. But now, you cannot deny these circumstances are suspicious. Your cousin is the finest-or one of the finest- fighter I have fought alongside with in my years of battle. How is it that mere, crude and witless orcs have taken her, a master of strategy and combat?"

He let that sink in before continuing.

"There is more to this story than we know. And what we do not know can surely kill, even the strongest. But together, we not only have a better chance of survival but we will be able work together to find out what this darkness is, and fight it. Even you cannot deny, that if this… Dark Power is strong and cunning enough to ensnare your cousin, then it is capable of anything."

"No one knows what we will face," the voice said stiffly. "The Valar have forsaken us, even as they forsook Númenor and the elves in Utumno." Yet Telperinquar was unsure, even if he didn't want the High King to know it.

"Have they?" Ereinion said quietly. He stepped forwards slightly. "Or have they led us to a new path- yours for a life that you've earned and deserved- ours, to be saved? This is a second chance- an opportunity, not for a single being, but for us all. This is a chance to breathe anew- and truly survive, once and for all."

The silence contained many volumes.

Perhaps the All-Father whispered those words into his mind. Perhaps the Valar had not forsaken them after all.

"We could finish this," he breathed. "Once and for all. Your cousin would be safe. And so would all those that follow you. All of you."

He smiled wryly in the darkness. "That would take some convincing," he said, lowering his sword and stepping into the light.

Telperinquar, son of Curufinwë Atarinkë Fëanorion stepped forth and allowed unknown eyes to see him for the first time.

The first thing that shocked the elves present was his beauty. He had a beauty similar to Estela's somewhat, there was no denying they were kin. Estela had inherited both parents' looks- she was one of those faces that resembled her father when placed next to him, and yet her mother's, when placed with _her_, despite both parents looking nothing alike. Her father's looks came from Fëanor, fairest of face and form. He resembled paintings of Fëanor to an extent, but outshone them. If the real Fëanáro had passed on only half his looks, what he must have looked like in real life. His eyes were every bit as blue and bright as Ereinion's but was a paler shade, like the sky, only more brilliant.

The elf moved slowly forwards. He had an aura like the princes and kings of old and everyone knew him to be one of the last of a powerful dynasty of warrior princes that sowed dread in everyone they fought against.

Only the High King appeared to match him, different as they were.

Telperinquar's lips twitched at the corner. He was ready to listen, but not to trust completely, and he told them so.

"One would be foolish to hand trust upon a platter," was Ereinion's response.

But the two talked, although Ereinion had yet reveal he knew the identity of Telperinquar's cousin and who divulged that information. This Fëanorian might be as quick to forgive as his cousin.

* * *

Galadriel watched the basin again. It was nightfall. Celeborn stood with her. The couple's daughter Celebrían as well watched with them, her blue eyes wide.

The three gathered around the basin, watching intently. But the images were foul and unclear and more than one of the four were tempted to throw it away entirely, but none gave up.

Clouds of darkness swirled around the mirror's surface. Images of orcs fighting, slaying, a maiden with copper hair striking them with a sword…

"That's it!" Celebrían cried. She leaned forwards slightly, her eyes eager.

Estela was seen fighting yet more orcs.

"Is this the past or the future?" Celeborn asked puzzled. It could not be the present, her twin swords were found discarded on the ground.

"One cannot be sure," Galadriel murmured. "But it may be the future."

Celeborn's brow furrowed. "That does not mean that she survives." He looked worried. "This is murkier than it has ever been."

"One thing is clear," Galadriel intoned. "A Dark Power grows, and it becomes more powerful with every passing day. The darkness surrounds us all, and it has long waited in the shadows, preying upon the sudden chance to rise again. This world will be changed, that much I know. And soon it will never be the same."

With that happy thought, the three elves continued basin-gazing.

* * *

Telperinquar had no choice but to accept their help. Alwion had told him that if he acted with hostility, they would respond tenfold with suspicion and mistrust. As Fëanorians, they had ten times more to prove, even if others didn't know it.

So he was resigned more than anything.

Thranduil placed a slender, long-fingered hand upon a tree-trunk. He was communicating with the trees, just as Telpe did.

His icy blue eyes suddenly snapped open. That direction, he said, jerking his head towards the right.

Alwion was confused. "But we've already been and checked that place, there's no sign-"

"Because it is covered with magic," Thranduil responded calmly. "The trees tell me that a spell of concealment dwells upon the path. And they carried her unconscious upon their backs."

Ereinion stood. "We'll go in that direction," he said an urgency in his voice that was betrayed by the harshness of his tone. "Hurry, we have no time to lose." He was certainly desperate.

There was nothing he wouldn't do. And whenever his eyes went out of focus, he could see _her_… His Estela lying broken, bones shattered on the ground, her blood staining the earth, her face pale and devoid of life. He shook. He had kept calm so far, because he was focused but now…

He was white and cold as ice. He could not bear it. It tore him, and shook him inside. His head was screaming at him to stop. He couldn't help it. He lost his father, his mother, almost everyone he knew since childhood, and now…

He wanted to scream and weep at the stars. Why? Why him and why her? Had they not done enough? Had they not been punished enough for what they did not do?

Everything inside him was screaming at him to tear through everything until she was found. But he swallowed it and listened to everyone else's advice, not noticing the way Estela's cousin was gazing at him, his calculating look slowly fading before his blue eyes widened in shock.

The mud was damp. There were faint scents here and there, but nothing to give any lead. They smelt smoke- very faint- and burnt meat- also faint which was a good thing, because once they received the hint they believed that a stronger scent would make a human vomit and an elf cringe.

But there was nothing specific. They did note, however, that there was an orc footprint imbedded in the thick mud. Ereinion and Elrond knelt down to inspect it. Telperinquar and Thranduil were unsatisfied.

Telperinquar walked, his boots only slightly printing in the mud. He gazed into the darkness between two trees, and sensed… something. He drew his blade.

"This way," he said.

"How can you be sure?" Alwion asked him.

Telpe ignored him and kept on walking. The others followed suit.

_I remember this place,_ Ereinion thought. He knew it somehow, yet could not recall…

Telpe sliced the air with his blade. Murmuring something in Valarin, he sliced through the air, and something shimmered.

"There." He said finally. "There are traces of magic, but it appears to be the strongest in this direction. That means that the source of this magic… is this way."

"How can you be certain?" Alwion asked sceptically.

Telpe smiled. "Because if you were using magic to conceal something, you'd want to cover that thing up the most, don't you? But it has a weak point. All magic has traces. And I can reveal its weaknesses."

"Where does this lead?" Gil-Galad asked. Unbeknownst to everyone else, he was eager, and impatient.

And only he could tell why his heart raced.

* * *

_Everything was in darkness. Everything was despair. She had been forced to live every moment that she lived, once more. All her joy, all her pain and regrets. It was worse than what Morgoth did to her father._

_Whoever this is, he was more twisted than Morgoth had been. _

_He knew what he wanted. He knew what weakened her. He knew and he wanted her to break. To fall to his side, to fall to darkness._

_She was weak. She was fading. Oh, did Mandos have no mercy? Can she not fade and leave in peace, or must she suffer this dangerous temptation?_

_But she was not Míriel Serindë, her weak foremother whose inability to face life led to the path of destruction and ill brought by a misguided son who had lost the only parent he had ever known. If there was one thing time had taught her, it was that an escape would bring far worse consequences than she imagined had she not taken the choice if escape. So with that knowledge, she gained strength. _

_The Darkness hissed in rage and increased its efforts. She felt the clouds of black substance- thicker than smoke, yet not solid- drain her of everything further- her energy, her voice, her strength to live, her ability for happiness, her hope, the remnants of her voice…_

_And her _fëa_, or at least the flame that burned this whole time, keeping her spirit alive._

_Now, separated from everyone she had left, including the one she thought of, unwise as it was, she had truly lost the last thing she had to lose…_

_Herself._

* * *

Galadriel's hands clenched the edge of the basin. It was useless, after all. She was going to try a different approach.

Closing her eyes she reached out with her mind, to where Gil-Galad-Ereinion, Elrond, Thranduil and the others went. Telperinquar was with them, she noted with surprise. Although she sensed he wasn't happy about it.

They moved towards a fortress. It was set within a mountain. An ancient dwarvish realm, long-forgotten. There, she decided. There would Estela, daughter of her heart, like her own, lay. She would help them with her magic.

She only prayed they would reach there soon.

* * *

_She saw nothing. She felt nothing. She was so diminished, she could have been even less than a twig, if souls were physical forms themselves. She had endured and resisted. Yet she had paid the ultimate price._

_Suddenly there were shouts and screams. Orcs screeching in fear and panic as something cut them down. The shouts of elves. Through her blurry vision, swirling with the dark wisps of cloud, speeding all around her, she noted the shapes and colours of elves rushing in, but was too drained to care._

_She was exhausted. She wanted rest. But cruel as the Darkness was, it would not give up without a fight. _

_She remembered the Darkness lunging towards the elves, then suddenly, someone stood in front- two elves- one looked remarkably like her cousin. The other… like the ones she longed for, but dared never to admit._

_The elves fought magnificently, and none more magnificent than _him. _But although he fought like her father, it was not enough. The Darkness lunged._

_A light flashed, it was Telperinquar's sword- and suddenly the darkness fled. It was weak, she realised, almost as weak as she was. _

_The last thing she remembered before everything turned black was someone- someone she knew- calling out her name in panic. _

* * *

"Estela!" Ereinion rushed towards her. Orcs came but he cut them down. Most of them decided that with the Darkness gone, they were better of having fled. He sliced them with his blade before falling to his knees to support his beloved.

Instantly he could tell, it was worse than he could have imagined.

She was pale as ice- so pale, she seemed transparent. She looked so drained, so ghostly was her beauty that the only sign of her former vibrancy was her copper, gold and silver-streaked mane.

"Estela!" He whispered urgently. "Estela!" He panicked and it reached its peak. His eyes had traces of tears in them. _Please, please, don't let her be dead. Please…._

Elrond hurried over and dropped to his knees by her side. He laid his hand upon her brow and reached out for her _fëa. _

"What was that thing?" someone gasped behind them. It was what would be thought about… But first they had to get her to safety.

Whatever it was, it was far from good. And as the High King carried the fallen shieldmaiden out of that fortress, they knew the time was running out.

They may have won a victory against the King's Men, but what new enemy awaited them? And what was it that was so foul, so dangerous, that it drained her until she was nearly dead?

* * *

_**Well, ladies and gentlemen, no more disgusting scenes like in last chapter! Now what's going to happen?**_

_**And I do believe that **_**he _was more twisted and cunning than Morgoth in some ways- he had to make do as he wasn't as strong. But what would happen next. Now everyone basically knows what the High King feels for her, and she's admitting it to herself- but remember, even if she does get better, this is someone who's grown up in grief, pain and war. Remember what I said about her parents teaching and advising her little about love? She doesn't remember how to open her heart _that_ much for anyone who will be more than a friend. She gave up on that future long ago._**

**_But what will happen next?_**


	25. Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Five

"What will happen to her?" Celebrían asked worriedly.

No one could answer. Galadriel placed her hand on Estela's forehead and reached out trying to touch her _fëa_. She closed her eyes.

There did not seem to be anything. But she was alive, so surely there was something?

"I cannot feel her _fëa_," she said gravely. "There is darkness that has drained her."

"What was it?" Ereinion demanded. His face was streaked in dust and his eyes bore the signs of true fear.

"I do not know," Galadriel responded. "But whatever it is, it is not part of the normal pattern of this world. It is a darkness so dark and powerful that if left to fester…" he voice trailed off.

Elrond joined her in checking her for any sign of hurt. Interestingly enough her physical form was left unmarred. Internal or external, her body was fine. The real damage was to her _fëa_.

His brow furrowed as he checked her soul. Something truly was not right.

What was that thing? Now was not the time, but even as he tried hard not to panic for her, he could not help but wonder…

Had Morgoth came back?

It was a blood-chilling thought. In fact it was more than enough to make all the magma beneath Arda's crust freeze. But it was also unlikely. The Valar themselves tossed Morgoth into the void, and if he could not even get out from Angainor when he was merely imprisoned, then he had no chance of escaping the punishment they inflicted for the last time.

Thranduil had gone to report to his father all that transpired. No doubt the question of the Darkness had spread by now, throughout the camp. Soon it will spread throughout all of Middle-Earth- the stories and- he had a bad feeling about it- the Darkness itself, whatever it could be.

Ereinion had stayed. He did not even bother to change out of his forest-garb and sparse armour. It was stained with orc-blood and grime, but no one noticed. His eyes were on Estela who was so pale and listless, she could only be fading.

Her skin looked so translucent it seemed to fade in places. She appeared thinner than what she normally was- although looking at her closely and hard enough, one could see in fact, that she had not lost weight in the least. Her incredibly lush, rounded rosebud lips were pale as milk. She did not appear to move and her heartbeat was strange. It was incredibly slow- no mortal could have had a heartbeat that slow, they would have been dead at this stage- and sometimes, it literally skipped a beat.

No, there was no doubt she was fading.

The thought frightened Ereinion worse than anything ever did. It also concerned the others. Just what had the Darkness do to her? By the looks of it, it must have drained a great deal of her bodily energy and her spirit's.

Just like Míriel Serindë, her foremother.

It frightened them all.

Finally Galadriel decided on something. She banished everyone but Elrond from the healing tent, even Ereinion. Despite feeling pity for him, she knew what she had to do.

The healing process would take several days.

Vorondo was white. He had seen her and had insisted on coming with Teleprinquar. He also fought tooth and nail to get to her in the healing tent, but was ultimately banished by the Lady of Light. Now as tears formed in his eyes, he blinked them away.

Maltariel was shaking and pale also. She kept rocking back and forth. She blamed herself.

But it could do nothing now.

Oropher asked Celeborn: "Who was that _ellon _who claimed to be her cousin?"

Celeborn gave him a long look. "Telperinquar, son of Curufin, fifth son of Fëanor."

Oropher could find nothing to say.

Everyone talked in whispers, as if a louder tone would bring doom upon them all. No one looked happy.

The healing would take time- time needed to convince Estela's _fëa_ to stay rather than depart.

"Something's not right," Celebrían whispered.

Her father raised an eyebrow. Of course there was nothing right at the moment.

"I sense something… Don't you feel it _Ada_?" she whispered. "Something's about to happen, I can feel it."

Celeborn sighed. He never knew how his daughter could sense these things coming- from her mother probably. But he always knew to heed her.

"She'll be fine," he said. She had to be.

She endured so much… surely she wasn't about to fade now.

And if she did… What would happen to Gil-Galad?

* * *

Days passed. Most of the encampment were ordered to return home. Tents were taken down and rolled away to be packed. Food supplies were checked on last time and pots and pans were washed while fires were put out.

The horses were fed and saddled with bags, but most took convincing to leave. Particularly the ones who were saved by Estela and had developed a debt, of sorts, towards her, which they felt needed to be settled.

King Oropher decided it was best to leave. Giving a glance of sorts to Celeborn and an inquisitive one towards Telperinquar- who had by now realised everyone knew their identities, was not happy about it, yet realised now was not the time to get upset and there was nothing he could do- and mounted his horse. Thranduil left with him. He gave a glance towards the twin swords Estela had, which had been found and lay neatly wrapped in silk, and he had a look of sorts on his face; part curiosity, part yearning. It was the first time he had ever seen a person fight with more than one sword- who had ever heard of it? But Estela had been trained by Maedhros, the dread warrior prince, feared by all Dark Powers, who had been one of the few in history to have died undefeated, and was thus skilled enough to invent new ways of fighting.

He wanted to learn, he could not deny his curiosity and eagerness. But now was not the time. He kicked his horse and left with his father and army of Woodland Elves.

Those that stayed were the High King's personal guard, Elrond's, and Celeborn and Galadriel's.

As well as Telperinquar, and Estela's friends and followers.

The hours went by.

Elrond suggested they take her somewhere else, but then frowned upon the thought.

Meanwhile Estela hovered between life and death. In mortal terms, her body was already half-dead- or more than that.

* * *

_She dreamed of an emptiness. It wasn't even dark- it was nothing._

_But no, there was something… Or rather, _someone_. _

_Not just anyone… But the _ONE_. He whispered something…. But it was a voice without a sound. A sentence… a meaning… without words. Something not sound, but much larger than that. _

_And suddenly light burst forth… Stars exploded into existence and everything was so bright…_

_Then beings took form- well, form without physicality. They were light. And soon, the void around them was filled with soundless music, lovelier than anything she could possibly imagine- not even her mother and uncle could have brought something to life as the music they sung. It wasn't even a metaphor, she realised. It _was _life. And everything around them was light, light in the shape of… a hall? Was it a hall? The light shaped itself around those beings like a hall._

_And soon the light opened up, like a wall or a door before her, before them all. All of it was in darkness… But something burst forth, springing out of the light she saw. _

_It was dull and dark, it was barren, but she could see it was rock…_

_Then the Voice- how utterly and indescribably different it was to the voice she had heard in the fortress- spoke once more. The Voice had spoken, she thought, just before the land-mass burst forth._

_The beings fell downwards. They were like meteors, she thought, or comets falling to the earth- Arda unfinished she now knew- and when they landed their light suddenly turned opaque. Soon they became solid, and she cried out in surprise when she saw who they were._

_The Valar stood before her._

_Many things happened at once._

_The All-Father saw many things done._

_The Valar worked. She saw Aulë hammering and chiselling, shaping the mountains- although that was mostly the Ilúvatar's work. She saw Varda filling a great cauldron with something that exuded so much light even she with her elven eyes could not see. Then she and the Maiar scooped handfuls and scattered them up into the sky. The stars… She almost wept in wonder at their beauty._

_She saw Ulmo filling his seas, stroking his fish and gently urging the coral to grow… She saw Yavanna spreading her arms, and the trees, bushes, grass and all vegetation started to grow. Nessa ran amongst the deer, urging them on. Oromë the Master Woodsman on Nahar, rode and kept an eye on the newly-formed beasts. Vána the Ever-Young scattered flowers with her sister. Manwë high on the mountaintop, held out his arms and eagles flew forth with the winds blowing._

_She rejoiced. She laughed. Was this the first time she laughed? It felt like it. _

_But she knew something was wrong. _

_How did she see? There was light but it came from the forms of the Ainur, and the stars. Not the sun or moon. Not the Two Trees. But she saw a Vala hammering something…It was Aulë. And he was hammering something- or two things. And then Varda came and filled the inside of one end on both things… with something like the ones she had in her wells and cauldrons. Aulë pulled both up, and Estela saw they were two poles made of gold and silver, hammered and chiselled with designs so magnificent she had never imagined it could exist. Varda whispered something and the two globes on either end glowed with light. One was gold the other silver. She saw the Valar placing both separate places- one would go far north, she knew, and the other far south. These were the Great Lamps. _

_Now the world was illuminated and she gasped at what she saw. Arda unmarred. A sight no elf had ever seen._

_But she knew something was wrong. Something poisoned the rivers, streams and ponds with… blood? Blood that came from dead animals… and she saw that some of the animals had turned feral, with sharp teeth and snarling, hateful eyes. _

_Tulkas sprang into action… she saw a dark shadow in the distance and she knew it was Morgoth- or Melkor as he was known then. She saw Tulkas give chase Oromë did too, on Nahar. But soon all was well, it seemed._

_She saw Tulkas and Nessa and her eyes widened. This could not be… but it was! They were being married! Right before her eyes! All the other Ainur gathered around them and she saw dancing and feasting the likes of which she had never witnessed. But then she saw something else. A dark figure on a cliff on the horizon which did not go down to celebrate with them. Her heart chilled. It was Melkor._

_She saw Nessa dance, flowers scattering, growing beneath her feet. She saw Tulkas lie down and was filled with dread. She had enough lessons to know what came next._

_She saw Melkor. He was up to something. _

_And then she saw it. He had delved deep underground, a fortress delved deep into the unwitting earth. It was cavernous, terrifying, dark and so frightening she wanted to scream. There was a pit… larger than anything else. And in it Melkor filled…._

_She wanted to run. She wanted to scream. But she couldn't. But thankfully the scene changed. _

_She saw Melkor charging. He toppled the great lamps. She wanted to gasp. He had more than enough with him- the Ainur loyal to him, she thought with sickening realisation. She wondered if Ungoliant was among their number. She wondered if the one the old woman warned her was there._

_She saw them, they passed through something that seemed to be made out of night air- the Walls of Night, she knew. She saw Melkor and she saw him place a hand against Ormal- the Gold lamp. He shoved. It took three turns, and she began to feel hopeful. But she knew this story. _

_The lamp fell with a crash that threatened to shatter the earth. She saw the Valar freeze and the Maiar start from whatever they were doing._

_And Tulkas jumped up as did Oromë. Both of them came to Manwë Súlimo and he spoke to them. They rushed after Melkor. She saw him flee. _

_But her heart sank. It was not going to end well._

_The scene changed. Suddenly she saw the stars kindling brighter than ever. She was an elf. She loved the light of the stars and it made her laugh again._

_Then she saw something. She was standing… in a bay. There was a sea. And stars overhead. She saw something… stirring. No, more than one, and not something. They were people. They were stirring. They sat up. They saw the stars and gasped. These were the first, she thought. It almost brought her down on her knees. The Unbegotten. _

_Desperately she searched for a familiar face from her childhood. She didn't succeed. But she saw an elf, whose hair was pure gold, clasping another elf- a maiden with the same hair- and moving forth. She saw another elf couple doing the same, moving forwards. She saw a third, with pure silver hair. They moved amongst everyone. The couples, after much wandering, found more elves. They did as the stories said, journeying and claiming the elves they found as among their group. _

_The scene changed. Soon she saw a rider coming into view. She knew it was Oromë riding on Nahar. He halted when he came across them. The scene showed him speaking to the elves and many of them listening, although some fled. _

_She saw elves conducting an exodus. The Great Journey, she realised in astonishment. There were elves wrapped in cloaks with hoods, many had horses- to ride or to carry belongings and supplies. She saw one elf leading a group of them- tall dark-haired and noble- Finwë! _

_Her heart leapt and screamed in joy to see him, yet it also broke, to see him alive and healthy, unmarred by Morgoth. He was the tallest of the group and his eyes glanced around looking for potential dangers all the while helping anyone who needed help- anyone whose horses were stuck, anyone whose belongings were scattered- the young who could not walk properly for too long a distance, she even saw him carrying children for lengths of the journey, always with his sword at his side. It shocked her to see him with one- it was such an unfamiliar sight to see him with a weapon- and a real one at that. The great-grandfather she knew wouldn't touch a deadly instrument at all. _

_Her eyes wandered, and it staggered inside her to see so many elves. She had never seen such a great exodus before. The Great Journey must have been more than anyone ever written about or spoken of. Her eyes wandered again, and they settled upon two more groups. One was gold-haired led by a figure se had known, although not very well- Ingwë- High King of the Eldar and Indis' uncle. The other group was led by an unfamiliar silver-haired elf so tall she was impressed. But next to him was an elf with white hair, like platinum. Her heart gave another leap and cry of joy. It was Olwë, her other forefather, leading the people on with his brother Elwë later Elu Thingol. And onwards they went towards Valinor. _

_Her heart sung and she ached to join them in their journey. It felt a lightness she had never felt since before Finwë's death. She wanted to dance, to leap, to sing, like the child she used to be. _

_She saw them in great ships, with swan figureheads with gold beaks and eyes of onyx and jet. The swans- she saw another sight which made her question her senses- they were leading them- the real swans not the figureheads. Tied to ropes, huge flocks of swans pulled them beneath the stars. _

_And soon they reached it and her heart threatened to break and she wanted to weep. Valinor!_

_She saw them raise cities and she wanted to break down. What she wouldn't give to join them! But she marvelled in the magnificence of it all. Even Gondolin, she decided, was a pale shadow of Tirion the magnificent city upon the hill Túna. She watched the city she had grown up in along with Alqualondë, rise to the magnificence she remembered. And she saw Finwë again._

_And with him a silver-haired maiden, so beautiful, as beautiful as Indis, although in a very different way. Her heart now gave an unpleasant lurch. _

_Míriel. The deceased foremother that had abandoned them long ago._

_There was no mistaking her- she looked like Fëanáro her son, except for her hair, silver as a Teler's and straight. Even Estela was breath-taken by her beauty but her heart grew in rage at the sight of her._

_She knew it wasn't Miriel's fault that she died giving life to her son. But she could have returned. Yet she didn't._

_There was a swell in front of her gown. She knew who this was. _

_And then the scene changed. _

_Finwë was there, holding a bundle of blankets. Miriel was there also, lying on the bed, looking so pale and listless, she seemed to be translucent, even transparent around the edges. She also didn't look like she had recently been pregnant- she was so thin. _

"_Is he not beautiful?" Finwë declared. He seemed to be blown away and gasped at the child's beauty in the light. "The most beautiful babe I have ever beheld!"_

_Miriel smiled, but she seemed stretched even though she was obviously happy. _

"_I shall call him Curufinwë," Finwë declared. "'The skilled son of Finwë.'" _

"_And I, Fëanáro," she murmured. "'The Spirit of Fire.'" _

"_A good name," Finwë added a joyous twinkle in his eyes that she had forgotten he had had, but now remembered him having. _

_But Míriel did not smile, although her whole attention was on her new-born child, when he was handed back to her. _

"_Love?" Finwë asked. "What is it?"_

_Míriel glanced up at Finwë and there was a pain in her eyes. Estela was shocked to see that the woman who in the previous scene had been so vibrant, had lost all trace of brightness in her eyes. It was dull. So dull and flat she had never seen the like. _

"_Never again shall I bear a child," she said softly. "Before his birth, I had strength to nourish and bring forth thousands, it would seem. But now, all of it has gone onto Fëanáro. This one treasured, priceless, irreplaceable child I have given you- no more."_

_Finwë, she saw was shocked. And grieved. Pain sprung into his eyes, and panic. "This is Aman," he said, trying to reason with her. "Is there not healing here that does not exist elsewhere? What ails you that cannot be healed? All the weary have found rest."_

_Rest. She knew it was what the queen longed for, secretly in her heart, although it tore her to separate from her newly-born child._

_The scene changed again. This time she saw Míriel, Queen of the Noldor, boarding a carriage. It shocked her. She had grown so thin, listless, pale and weak, that she looked like she was about to break. She needed help entering the carriage, and she looked so fragile, wobbling delicately from side to side, it was painful to watch. _

_Finwë was there and his face was pained. "Beloved," he whispered. "Can I not persuade you to stay a while longer before you depart? Our son is growing and soon he will tread upon the green hills of Túna. Must you leave now?"_

_She could see agonising pain flash across Míriel's face. It was shattering her inside, yet she knew what would happen. "I have never felt more unhappiness in all my life," she whispered, and tears streaked her face. It was tearing her up inside but she was going to go. "And yet I must leave. Forgive me, in this, and in everything that comes."_

_It slammed into her and was so cold she could scarcely think. She knew. Her foremother knew. She knew what would happen._

_And yet she never guessed it could be because she left?_

_The carriage departed._

_The scene changed and she saw Finwë, kneeling beside the still body of his wife, covered in a fine veil all over. There were flowers in her hair. She looked so lovely, the air seemed to be robbed of her lungs. But even though she appeared only sleeping, she saw so still, and Estela knew she could only be…dead._

_Finwë left. He was sobbing, although there was no one about and no one saw him. His shoulders slumped as he sank upon a bench and sobbed._

_He was alone. She wanted to rush over to him, and comfort him. To bring joy and comfort into his heart. _

_Then the scene changed. Finwë stood before the Valar. She was shaken to the core. It was the Máhanaxar- the Ring of Doom- the Meeting Council of all the Valar._

_Manwë looked troubled- they all did. _

"_Your wife Míriel has given her answer." He spoke. It was strong, and clear as the skies in which he reigned. "She will not return. She has demanded that we leave her in peace in the Halls of Mandos."_

_Finwë looked like he was about to break. Estela wanted to scream, to curse the selfish, cowardly foremother that did not want to face or even try to prevent anything she knew would happen, from happening. She knew and did not try to do anything. She was a coward. She was responsible, in part._

"_We have consulted the Father," Manwë intoned. "And He feels your pain, as he feels others. We all feel it. So it is decided. If your wife Míriel would not return to you, than consider your union dissolved and now you are free- free to take a new spouse."_

_There was a gasp, but no one dared to say anything. It was shocking- no more than shocking- it was unthinkable. Unthinkable that an Elda should marry twice! Many centuries later, she knew men would be able to take more than one spouse, but elves? Never. Not even death sundered their union._

_The scene changed yet again. There was Finwë with a beautiful maiden, whose beauty rendered everyone who beheld her breathless. Her hair was gold, pure gold illuminated and glittering, as if Laurelin's light had settled itself in her tresses, and it was waving. This person she knew very well in her childhood. Indis, called the Fair, of the Vanyar. Ingwë's niece and Queen during the years Estela knew her. And less of a coward than Míriel, she thought scathingly. _

_She saw her grandfather working in his forge. Laughing with his apprentices, meeting people who laughed and were great friends with them- he made a lot of friends, she thought. Just like her own father… And with him was a lady. She had a pale complexion that flushed a warm, rosy colour. Her eyes were green and her hair was a deep and vibrant copper. Nerdanel, her grandmother._

_She saw them working together. Him in his forge, and she not far away, chiselling and sculpting to her heart's delight._

_And she saw their sons.  
Her father was the tallest, and easily spotted. His hair was as deep a crimson copper as his mother's and his face resembled his father's- and Míriel's she thought bitterly. Beautiful in all ways, magnificently sculptured and chiselled: High sculpted cheekbones, straight, slim nose, noble brow, fine, chiselled lips. She saw the resemblance now. And she saw it in herself. It made her resentful. If Míriel wanted to leave then by all means she should stay gone and bother them no more!_

_Her uncle Macalaurë was there as well. He was closest to her father. He stood almost as tall, with black hair and blue-grey eyes. He had the looks of a painting, delicate and classical in beauty. His harp was slung on his back, as usual. She had to smile._

_Tyelcormo, her third uncle stood tall and proud. He was golden as a lion, and shone, his hair was the lightest of all seven brothers and his eyes were blue as a brilliant sky in midsummer's day. Carnistir, in contrast was very dark, with his amber eyes being the brightest part of him, and dark hair, almost like red-wine in colour or black glass. His skin was pale but could go warm, hence his mother-name. Curufinwë came next. Telpe's father, and she almost shook at the resemblance between him and Telpe, and also their grandfather. His eyes were sharp. The two twins she knew well, they were young and her heart ached to see them alive and vibrant, whole and healthy- above all else happy. They were more like playmates to her, elder brothers than uncles. _

_One thing the sons of Feanaro had in common was that sometimes, their eyes changed. It was a special trait they shared with their father. Sometimes their eyes were other colours. Her father's was emerald-green, like hers. Macalaurë's blue-grey, Tyelcormo's bright blue, Carnistir's amber and Curufinwë's grey. The twins had grey-green eyes. But sometimes they changed colour to a very dark blue, almost black, with stars inside- real, true eight-pointed stars which became the symbol of their house, silver and brilliant, cutting and shining through the darkness. Fëanorian eyes they called it, although it wasn't widespread news. _

_She herself didn't share the trait, although she inherited many others. She had almost forgotten how strange it was to look at her father and see him have eyes one colour one minute and another the next but it was only when she thought about it- it was usually considered normal to her._

_The seven of them. So magnificent and strong. She couldn't stand the sight._

_Then she saw something else._

_It was a great feast- the greatest celebrations she had ever set eyes upon. The Grand Hall was decorated with beautiful blossoms, some were in creamy-pale, soothing pastel shades, others in deep, rich vibrant colours, all of them were placed beautifully and artfully together. There were streamers, and banners. Mirrors were polished to a bright shine, made of artificial Noldorin glass- most by her grandfather, she could tell- framed in gold, ornately chiselled with intricate designs set in gems. There were ceramic-ware and precious-metal ornaments. Everyone was hurrying about, there were people setting seats, polishing ornaments and mirrors, using feather-dusters on the most delicate and breakable pieces. There were elves on ladders polishing the gems set in the ceiling and the gold pillars. Something was about to happen- a celebration of sorts, and she looked at the banners in the entrance- the House of Finwë, and the Star of Fëanáro, and the insignia of the House of Olwë- she gasped. This was her parents' wedding!_

_Everyone knew there would be two ceremonies- one for the Noldor in Tirion, and the other in Alqualondë for the Telerin people. And now she was witnessing the Noldorin wedding. Both families went into a great deal of trouble for this- both were to be the events of the year. Ingwë was invited to both weddings while those who could not come to both, came to one and had to forgo the other. _

_The guests started to arrive. The High Kings Ingwë and Finwë- Olwë arrived later. She spotted Arafinwë and Eärwen who looked utterly radiant and happy to be there. Artanis, her daughter, and her three sons were there as well._

_As was Nolofinwë and Anairë, she noted, the half-brother her grandfather loved least- or liked the least, depending on when one referred to her grandfather- before or after Melkor's visit. Their four children were there as well, including Findekáno, who was closest to her father. It struck her how much like Ereinion he looked, with his sapphire-blue eyes and midnight hair. Maybe he was truly his son after all._

_The music filled the air. She knew Macalaurë's playing and her eyes misted. How she had almost forgotten! It was sweet music and her father walked to the platform with her grandfather by his side. _

_He looked so tall and magnificent- he was in his most glorious of days, although the capture and torment in Angband did nothing to diminish his glory. Dressed in forest-green with trimmed with gold embroidery in fine branches and leaves, and soft grey trousers lined in gold, his boots polished to a high shine and tooled with exquisite detail. If only they saw him here, she thought sadly. They would think of him more than mere kinslayer. His copper hair was rich and vivid, bound with a gold circlet and his green eyes gazed impressively throughout the audience, offering acknowledgements to those that caught his eye. He looked like a prince- no, a king, more than any other elf._

_And all waited while the sweetest music played. Her mother arrived with her maternal grandmother by her side. Dressed in white, the colour of brides her gown flowed and trailed behind her in a train. It was pure-white silk covered with such delicate exquisite lace, embroidery, pearls and actual adamants in such gorgeous patterns, rich and fine, yet simple and elegant. She even had a delicate veil with beautiful patterns and a _mithril_ circlet beautifully-made with mother-of-pearl- made by her grandfather, no doubt. It hurt her, to see her mother so happy and radiant- so different from the lady that faded from grief. She was as beautiful as her cousin Lúthien, in her daughter's eyes._

_And even more tragic, as everyone thought she would be forever happy starting from that day onwards. Guided by her mother, she made her way to where Nelyafinwë Maitimo stood and gently accepted his offered hand._

_Estela watched the ceremony. No one knew. She searched the crowd for any sign, any sign at all of foreboding, and nothing entered her view. This wasn't what people said. Even about her grandfather, those that never even set foot upon Valinor said, 'They should have known, he hated his siblings didn't he? Even then they should have known!' But it was the most nonsensical thing she had ever heard. Because no one behaved that way towards her grandfather and people that _did _knew him before Melkor was set lose, could not reconcile the kinslayer they had heard of, to the person they once knew- or heard about, even. Of course no one knew!_

_So how did it come to be?_

_Seemingly in answer, the images rushed past. Suddenly it stopped right before her eyes and Estela saw her father standing before the Valar._

_What was he doing there? She could not have been more alarmed and bewildered. Was something wrong? Did something happen that she did not know about. But her father's words to them answered everything._

"_For decades now, we have been married," he intoned solemnly, beseechingly to the mighty Ainur. "Yet as my brothers themselves and our kin marry and beget offspring, we are childless, our arms and hearts empty with none but each other. We long nothing more than for a child. Any child, male or female."_

_She saw the Valar look at one another._

"_We have prayed to the All-Father. We have striven to be the best we can be in heart and deeds. We have even helped others that needed it, with their own children as well. Yet it is agony to see others play and laugh with their own children while we are empty and childless."_

_The Valar looked upon him with pity. She saw Nienna give a reproachful glance at the other Valar. Námo shifted, as if uneasy. She saw him give a glance to his brother Irmo. The Fëanturi exchange glances and somehow… they knew, Estela was ice-cold. No one else knew, but those two brothers and the All-Father._

_And her foremother._

_They all looked at each other. "Give us time son of Fëanáro," Manwë spoke. His strong voice echoed all around. "You shall have your answer by the next night when Telperion waxes to its fullest."_

_An odd time to give an answer, Estela thought. But it then hit her. If the Valar promised something it was bound to be one of the most powerful and promising things- more than you could hope for- with a powerful destiny._

_And that child… Oh, that child… it was her._

_The scene changed and soon her father stood again before the Máhanaxar. Silver light surrounded them, and she knew Telperion was at its strongest._

_Her father looked up, she saw the light of desperation, the silent pleading and the hope in his eyes. And maybe even fear, although she had never seen it in him._

_Manwë told him. "Let the brothers Fëanturi speak." And he left it to them to address her father._

_It was Namo who spoke. "The promise of the All-Father is given and it is thus: that come the next year when Telperion glistens and gleams the most, your child shall be born outside the cities if the Noldor. Hope she is and hope she shall be for all those who have none- but beware son of Fëanáro. For the deeds of the Father shall be the child's future- unless she be strong enough and brave in heart to change it. Whatever shall be done, your child shall burn brighter than any flame, yet live and feel the pain and suffering of loss should Darkness grows. And she shall grow great and glorious and beautiful, even in comparison to Laurelin and Telperion, and as a beacon of hope, so will hands reach out for her- in a desire for hope or to destroy it."_

_Then she saw her father Maitimo sitting down with his family, and his wife. "What did he mean?" one of her aunts said, puzzled. "He speaks in riddles," Carnistir grumbled. Artanis was there as well, holding her mother in an embrace. "Well one thing can be clear," she sighed. "Whatever he means- the two of you will have a child. And," there was a twinkle in her eyes. "Did you hear what else he said?" They looked at her puzzled. "'She'." Artanis smiled. "They said 'she'. I think you did not have any sisters. But now I believe you will have a daughter."_

_There were cheers all around. Particularly from her grandparents who never had the daughter they longed for, and only grandsons. The daughters they had were someone else's before they married their sons, but now they were going to have a granddaughter. Estela could not bear to look. She knew what the Vala meant._

_But did she? _

'_Unless she be strong enough, and brave enough to change it'- was that not what the Lord Namo said? _

_What did he mean? She was not one of Men. She did not possess their gift to forge her own destiny- hers was written in the stars, along with the other Eldar! She was no mortal! _

_And yet… There have been cases of immortals differing from the rest. Her own forefather married twice. Does this mean… she truly had a choice?_

_She survived all that, didn't she? What if she was truly stronger than she ever thought of herself? She always believed she went on, because there was no other path to take- no alternative. Yet, she started to realise that there _was_. There had been many cases. She chose to fight for what was right, to save others. Yet she could have lived out the rest of her immortal life in obscurity, content with her skills at crafting. But she chose a life of hardship and struggle, in spite of all she endured._

_It hit her. She was strong enough. Stronger than she ever knew herself to be. She _survived_\- and that wasn't just a curse, but a blessing. _

_It was a shock, she knew it all along, yet it never dawned on her. She always believed that it was because there was no other alternative. But there _was_. And she chose to do something else entirely- not for glory, treasure, vengeance- she chose to be similar to her kin and yet _different_. She made different choices. _

_She was strong and she didn't simply endure, but survive. She could survive through this._

_And as Estela came back to reality, she felt freedom for the first time in over an Age._

* * *

"It's taking time," Elrond murmured.

Everyone was waiting for her to recover.

Gil-Galad was sitting on the floor, or kneeling, by her bed. He barely slept- and hardly ate. His eyes were fixed on her with such an intensity Elrond was beginning to feel annoyed.

He sighed. "We have done all we can. And we have managed to pull people back from when they were fading before. Hopefully, she will get the message. And this will only make her stronger."

Galadriel looked at Ereinion. "He is right," she said. "There is no more that can be done, that has not already been done. Rest," she advised the king. He frowned at her. "The danger has passed."

Telperinquar's eyes were also on Estela.

After a great deal of convincing (and they only managed it because they asked him- the High King no less- to do something useful), Ereinion left the tent.

Estela's followers were growing desperate and restless. Elrond thought that soon gossip would spread about the King and the shieldmaiden that turned out to be the Fëanorian. After all, most of their company had returned to Lindon.

Suddenly Estela's eyes snapped open, and were in focus. She had been in a fading sleep, so her eyes were closed. Elrond saw and so did Galadriel.

"Ah, Estela," Celeborn said dryly. "Most of us were beginning to get quite worried."

She blinked and sat up. Elrond started because, for a moment, he could have sworn her eyes were blue-black with silver stars within them.

But they were emerald. And they were clear, gazing at everyone. "I-" she blinked. "What happened?" she asked.

"We might as well ask you?" Elrond spoke. "We could consider ourselves incredibly lucky. That darkness that overtook you… whatever it was, it was not of the normal world. If I hadn't remembered the part where the Valar arrived during the last days of the War of Wrath, I would have assumed it was Morgoth."

"No," Estela said quietly. "But close enough."

Before anyone could ask them anything, the tent flap drew open and there stood… Ereinion.

Her heart leapt but she knew not what to say and so she cast her eyes to the ground.

His hands dropped to his sides. "You're awake," he said, almost shocked.

She blinked. "I survived," she gave a rueful smile. "I just needed to remember that I survived far worse."

She started to get up. She felt Elrond restrain her. "Not yet," he advised. She glared at him, but sighed.

"Stay for a few more days," he advised. She frowned. "How long had I been unconscious for?"

"Three days," was the response. She groaned inwardly. Three days wasted. Elrond seemed to know her thoughts and smiled. Galadriel rose. "I will go see to the preparations," she said, and left.

She winced. Instantly Ereinion, the High King, she had to remember,was by her side. "Are you alright?" he asked.

"I'm fine," she sighed. He gazed at her in wonder. "You don't appear to look like you were fading." She frowned. "I wasn't fading! Was I?" she looked at everyone anxiously. They automatically shook their heads deciding it was an easier answer to bear.

A voice cleared his throat. She nearly jumped out of her skin when she realised it was… her cousin.

Telperinquar stood in the corner of the tent with his eyebrows raised.

Instantly she felt like a child who had been caught in the act of doing something naughty. She took a deep breath. She had to face it.

"So," he said. "You nearly had everyone worried, and I went to look for you after you revealed yourself to everyone and got yourself captured. Then everyone, it turned out, figured out who you were." She looked shocked.

"Who _we_ are," he corrected. "They know." "How?" she nearly whimpered. She stared at Elrond and Ereinion. The former looked sheepish. "Did you?" she gasped.

"And Galadriel," he admitted. "But no one hates you, Estela."

"Of course they didn't," The High King growled. "In fact everyone's curious," Elrond added.

She frowned. "Curious? I'm curious to find out what happened while I was out."

"Nothing that you already didn't know," he assured her. "And Inziladûn is returning to Númenor to be crowned." She frowned. "The King's Men won't make this time easy," she said.

"But he's not alone," Ereinion said. "No one ever is." And she knew in her heart of hearts, that he was correct.

Everything seemed to turn upside down. She didn't know what to do.

Ereinion had made some kind of promise to her kin and followers. She was astounded when she found out.

* * *

_Meanwhile in Númenor…_

Queen Inzilbêth gazed at her husband's face as he lay in his coffin draped in black. She was behind Inziladûn, magnificently robed as he too looked at his father's face. He was now King. King of a land now at war with one another- not in act, but in everything else. The Faithful and the King's Men hated each other. And there was bound to be trouble.

He wanted, in his deepest heart, for the Valar and the All-Father to forgive them. He wanted the King's Men, to see reason and for them all to live in peace- to not turn against their fellow man and beings simply because they do not have what the others have- or because differences are scorned. That was for the ignorant.

He would rebuild Númenor in a new light; he would make sure he did. His wife- well, bride, they were not yet married- stood not too far away from him. She shared his views- his dreams.

As did his mother.

As the dowager queen stared at her husband, she tried to learn how he had grown to _hate_. There had been little- if any- love in their marriage. Yet they had both been very happy when the wedding began. They had been happy and light had shone from every part of him. Yet greed, envy and paranoia had taken root and so did hatred. She saw no part of the man she married in him afterwards. Not even as he lay in his coffin, did she see any peace.

No, there was no peace for him. And she longed to ask him, _was it worth it? _And how would he answer? Perhaps he would be too proud to tell the truth, but deep down, he would know the wrong in his actions. He was gone now anyway, and the dead could not talk to the living.

She sighed, and agreed that things would take time to rebuild. Estela had warned her that. She advised her son against any radical action yet both knew what they wanted.

Soon it will be time for change. And they would start anew. There was hope. Estela had given them that.

* * *

_**Wow, I'm really sorry for the length of this chapter! I never knew it was this long until I finished it!** **I had to cut it in half. Things will change drastically in the next chapter and Ereinion and Estela's relationship will progress, but don't expect it to be easy! As I've said, she's had no experience in this and she's grown cautious. It's hard for her to trust and open up. As for Celebrimbor, well honestly, if you look in the game the Shadow of Mordor, he had a wife and child of his own and appeared to be leading a settlement that was thriving to say the least. I don't know about his supposed feelings towards Galadriel, she's already married by this time with a daughter. And yes, Elrond and Celebrían will end up together. They've already met by this time, I've decided. Everything will change in the next chapter and a span of time will have passed by then. **_


	26. Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Six

_A f__ew years later…. _

Things always change. For the elves, it takes longer than most. So when change comes, it is first a shock. But somehow, these elves accepted it gratefully and there were few, if any, problems.

Life had been hard and cruel. For all races have something that hinders them, if it doesn't render them miserable. Humans have to die someday and elves are never in control of their own fate.

Or are they?

Námo of Mandos had promised. And so the Valar watched while the remnants of the exiled Noldorin- the ones that came with Fëanáro- made a new life. They themselves seemed stunned that they were able to do so.

Unbeknownst to the elves, the Valar had not forgotten them. And neither did the All-Father. They were blessed.

Progress was slow, or rather it was supposed to be. The speed in which they adjusted was amazing by anyone's standards.

Ereinion kept his promise. And the rest of the elves were not hostile. Slowly, very slowly, they started to build a new life.

In the Land of Eregion, they started anew.

It was not the life they would have had if Morgoth had not intervened. But here they were not shunned, cursed and avoided with fear. They had redeemed themselves. The story of Estela's endurance became legend, and everyone suddenly craned their necks and sought to see for themselves, the last connecting links to such legendary figures and the shieldmaiden who shone like the Two Trees of Valinor. Not even the king, they said, could resist her spell.

They built the settlements, and soon, people had more to talk about and see. There grew shining towns and magnificent cities, pretty villages and out came an amazing array of goods- not just weapons, but ornaments, jewellery, fabrics including tapestries and clothing, sculptures and paintings, books and even new inventions- things the like of which no elf- save the ones who had met Fëanor, Míriel Serindë and Nerdanel- the ones who were taught by the Valar themselves. No one had seen the like. Of course, this meant that Eregion, who was left in the charge of Telperinquar whom the Sindarin called Celebrimbor (Estela didn't want to take any more leadership than she had had to), grew very wealthy indeed.

But some of them took more adjusting to do, in some ways.

* * *

The progress was slow, but despite being haunted, Estela knew that if something didn't kill you, it would make you even stronger than before.

She survived and more. She fought. And now she was building.

She could hardly believe it. Sometimes it felt too unreal- not even her dreams were like this.

The settlement in Eregion soon flourished like few settlements ever had. Men, Elves and Dwarves came to trade and view all that they had. Estela had taken up her crafting various things full time. She made jewellery like her cousin, and sculptures and paintings the way she was taught by her grandparents in Aman. She supervised the crafting of various things, such as furniture and ornaments, she wrote and bound books and started to weave.

She had a gift in that. Like Míriel.

It troubled her. Despite having so many things to do, it troubled her when she thought about Míriel and she admittedly resented the similarities between them. She didn't have anything against weaving, but she hated the mere thought of the cowardly foremother who abandoned her husband and child, despite knowing the misery that lay ahead. She was, in a way, responsible for all that. She just couldn't face it, and left Estela to do it instead.

She gritted her teeth. She was weaving now, and working on a very complicated tapestry. Soon she would start to work on the clothes that needed sewing. These people claimed, were finer than anything they had ever seen, but she cringed every time they said it, because they knew- whether or not they spoke it- where that had come from. She didn't relish weaving any less, but she hated the mere thought of being compared to the foremother she never knew.

_Coward,_ she thought as she used the shuttle on the tapestry in the loom. She had a massive loom and she hated to think of Míriel when she used it. If there was one person she couldn't forgive apart from Morgoth and Ungoliant (even her grandfather had been forgiven), then it was Míriel Serindë. She wondered what she would be doing now, in the Halls of Mandos. Probably still languishing there, avoiding the husband and son she abandoned, not to mention six grandsons and a few of their wives. She still didn't know what happened to her uncle Macalaurë.

All she had heard after the news was broken and her father had died, was that Macalaurë had disappeared. He was weeping, grieving his losses and actions. No one could find him. Whatever happened to Macalaurë, the brother her father was closest to, the uncle she adored, no one knew. He was gone- lost to her forever, as were her parents, grandparents and many others. But she also forgave him.

"What are you thinking of?" a soft voice asked her. Maltariel was beside her. She smiled. "It's strange," she murmured, as she worked. "I can think about my loved ones and all my memories and I can bear it. It's not what it used to be."

Maltariel wove with her. She complained that her weaving wasn't as good as Estela's but she had been taught to the best of her abilities. "My cousin's getting married you know," Estela noted as she worked.

The tone of disapproval was evident in her voice. She liked the maiden, but she disapproved of the speed in which their engagement progressed. The girl had come from Lindon's Grey Havens. It had been love at first sight for both of them, and Estela had been incredulous. Since when was her cousin like this?

But in a way she was glad. There had been rumours of him harbouring an unrequited love towards Galadriel. It was so stupid, it didn't even make sense. Yes, he admitted, long ago, he had been fascinated by her (who hadn't?) but that was long ago.

The courtship also made her uneasy. The idea of it, most of all. Ereinion the High King, had come to Eregion more than was necessary- one could almost think that he harboured a favouritism on the elves here, she thought disapprovingly. She was amazed his councillors didn't say anything. She hoped Elrond would, it was unbecoming.

But they all knew the reasons. It almost made her groan. It was no longer a secret.

He was there to see _her_. And irritating enough, he wasn't the only one. People came from everywhere in Lindon- or even outside- to see the _elleth_ that captured Gil-Galad's attention, pretending they needed this or that. New clothes. Tapestries. Jewellery. Furniture for a newlywed's home. Ornaments like vases. A new bow. A sword by Telperinquar, or as he was beginning to be known, Celebrimbor. And it was more than the material treasures they wanted to see. It was her. It made her squirm. She had been in hiding for so long- surely they can give her some peace and time to get used to it all.

"What are you thinking about now?' Maltariel laughed. "You look like you've swallowed a good dose of vinegar."

They laughed. "No," Estela said, her eyes twinkling. "I was thinking about all the people that come here- they're not just trading and looking for things, are they?"

Maltariel sighed. "Why don't you just talk to them? They're fascinated with _you_. This reclusiveness will only interest them further." Estela grimaced.

"I'm not used to it all," she explained. She twined a knot. "I just… This is a chance of peace. I don't want to go back to parading, the way it used to be. Even on Valinor it wasn't like this. My parents sheltered me."

Maltariel frowned. "I suppose they didn't speak to you about courtship and marriage, did they?"

Estela suddenly blushed. It was ridiculous. She was centuries old and an experienced shieldmaiden and craftsperson at that. She shouldn't be blushing like a girl, fresh into maturity!

"What if they didn't?" she argued. "Surely it's not important?" She tied another knot.

Maltariel sighed. "It _is _important, Estela. You might have grown up during the War of Wrath, but you've survived all that and now you have to live a life, that you should have lived if things didn't go so wrong. You've missed out on so much and now you've got a lot of catching up to do."

Estela's face went hot again. Yes, she knew Maltariel meant well, but really?

"What if I don't want to take a husband?" she asked twining a loose thread into a knot with her fingers.

"It's up to you," Maltariel said sharply. "But you don't know what you're missing. Your family would have wanted that for you. They might have never had the chance to sit down and talk about it, but you shouldn't be alone for all eternity. No parent wants that for their child, no matter how over-protective they can be."

Estela sighed. "Well, what if there isn't one out there for me?"

"You don't know that," Maltariel responded. "And you're not blind, surely? There are elves that want you for their own. Many of them, now they've gotten a chance to look at you properly."

Her face flushed again. "Looks are skin-deep," she protested. "There's no guarantee that we can be happy, if I pick one."

"You're thinking on the right path," Maltariel approved. "But there are some who _do _know you." She gave Estela a pointed look.

Estela sighed. "I don't know how to become a wife," she admitted. "I've been taught to be a loremaster, a weaver, a sculptress and painter, even a ship-builder. I can speak every language there is. But I don't know how to become a wife."

"No one does," Maltariel said slyly. "Until they try."

"I'm a shieldmaiden," Estela said. "Not a simpering-" but her sentence was cut off.

Galadriel entered the room, with Celebrían by her side. "Hello," Estela smiled. Both maidens rose and greeted the two. Celebrían was flushing brightly.

"Why the excitement?" Estela asked, noting Celebrían's colour.

"We had best wait until Elrond gets here," Galadriel explained. Estela gave her a quizzical look, which ceased when Elrond arrived. She smiled and embraced him.

"Having a good day?" she asked. He looked… well, radiant.

"I have never been happier," and the sincerity and the depth of that astounded her. She felt as if she missed something.

That unspoken question was soon answered when both Elrond and Celebrían held up their hands. She saw silver rings gleaming on each. They were betrothed.

She stood there stunned while Maltariel gave the couple her congratulations. She quickly followed suit.

"Well," Celebrían said. "We're not the only ones getting married. And soon I heard there will be more."

Estela tried not to flush. Celebrían, Elrond and even Artanis/Galadriel- of all people, the Lady of Light- were giving her sly, knowing looks. She pretended not to notice.

No one noticed Maltariel's troubled look.

"Well good luck to them," Estela smiled. "And good luck to you, although I know you will not need it, but my blessings nonetheless."

"May we walk?" Celebrían pleaded with her. Puzzled, Estela nodded. Glancing at Maltariel who had begun to talk to Artanis who was admiring their work, she put on a suitable outer robe and pinned a brooch. She even checked her hair.

"Where shall we go?" she asked. Celebrían shrugged. "Oh, just for a walk," that was all she said.

The two strode in silence, and Estela wondered if Celebrían had something to say to her. And if so, what was it?

"The High King was here last month, I heard," Celebrían said casually. Estela winced inwardly.

That.

"Yes, he was," she said wearily. "Everyone's been going here. I heard even dwarves are impressed with Celebrimbor's work," Celebrían had begun calling him by his Sindarin name.

"Yes they are. They're making arrangements for him to come to their homeland. He's going there, to help and supervise with the building of the new city in Khazad-dûm." She said. "He's even making special doors that would allow no one to enter without their permission."

"Only you and he would have nothing against dwarves," Celebrían laughed. "And Elrond and my mother. Most elves are blinded by convention and dwarves tend to be…unconventional."

"By their standards," Estela muttered. "We are all different. It's not something to hold against with others."

"True," Celebrían responded. She looked at Estela. "What are your plans for the future?"

"What do you mean?" Estela asked, puzzled.

She looked at her strangely. "I used to ask you that when you were in hiding," she said softly. "Now that your future looks more peaceful, what are you planning?"

Estela winced. "I'm not being too ambitious," she said. "It's dangerous, I know that better than anyone. I'm happy with the way things are."

"That's not what I meant."

"Well…" she didn't know what to say. "What _do_ you mean then?"

Celebrían looked at her sadly. "Is there no one you want to share your life with? I hear your cousin is betrothed as I am."

Estela was taken aback. "Where did this come from?" she asked bewildered. "What will happen, will happen. I don't know."

She gave her a long look. "You've been waiting too long," she said. But before Estela could respond, someone came into view.

It was the High King. She gaped. What in Arda was he doing there?

She suddenly wanted to turn and run.

Why? Why did she, though?

"What is the High King doing here?" she asked, turning incredulous, almost irritated eyes towards Celebrían. The maiden shrugged.

Estela cursed inwardly and turned, preparing to leave, but Celebrían held her sleeve.

Estela cursed and gave a tug. She wasn't even presentable! Not dressed to meet any king.

She made her way back when someone halted her. It was Vorondo.

"My lady?" he smiled. She couldn't help but smile back. "Vorondo," she murmured. Seeing him made her glad. She was glad that the friend who had followed her- not even of Noldorin descent- who had had to hide alongside them, could now move freely again.

"Where are you going so fast?" he asked.

"I-" she hesitated. "Nowhere." She smiled. "I've been busy of late. I don't know how my cousin can manage running this land, whilst still maintaining his craft."

She had given control freely to Telperinquar. She didn't regret it. She took on leadership no more than she had to.

"Well, then perhaps you would like to walk with me?" he asked. She smiled in relief. "Of course," she responded.

The two of them strode, her hand on his arm, and Estela started to relax.

"I've been thinking," Vorondo began slowly.  
"Of what?" she asked. But before he could respond the High King came into view. She was startled. She curtsied.

Vorondo bowed, but for some reason he didn't look happy about it.

"My Lord," she said. He smiled at her. "Please don't let formalities influence you," he said. "I've been hoping to meet you for some time. May I?" he asked Vorondo.

Vorondo was visibly reluctant, but did as the High King asked. Ereinion took her hand.

"I apologise for being forward," he said quietly. "I simply wanted to see you again."

She didn't know what to say. Her own heart was thundering, surely he could hear it. And the fact that he held her hand on his arm…

"You are not too forward my lord," she said not meeting his eyes.

"Estela, please," He pleaded with her, almost wearily. "Must we go through this?"

She took a deep breath and met his eyes. They stared into each other, and Estela would never dare tell anyone that her heart jumped just meeting his eyes.

His did too. "Estela," he said quietly. "I've been longing to see you for some time… Everything is different now. Can we not… see each other in a clearer light?"

She hesitated. Was there a reason?

She thought about what Mandos said. Both before her conception and birth and afterwards. She then thought about what Eönwë had said.

It was all so confusing. Should she run and save Ereinion because she was truly cursed? Was she? Didn't Námo of Mandos say those words to everyone who followed Fëanáro? And he said nothing about whether they meant to follow him or not. Her own mother had faded, just as he predicted many would. Many had been slain. The Silmarils forever eluded them. He did not say anything about sparing anyone. He made no exceptions.

And yet… It contrasted so sharply with what he had said when her father came to plead with the Valar during the Máhanaxar. What is going on? She wanted to howl in frustration. Was she cursed or not? If she was, she should try to spare him of that.

But didn't Eönwë say… she groaned inwardly. This was too confusing. And there was no way of getting the Ainur to come and explain it all to her.

"You are my King," she said slowly, carefully, testing what she should do. "We may do as you wish."

She saw frustration flash in his eyes. "Estela," he said. "Do not test me. I do not want you to do as I ask simply because I am a king. I want you to do what _you _want."

And they both knew that he wanted her to want a certain something. But her resolve crumbled nonetheless.

"Your cousin tells me his wedding is to be held in a month," Ereinion said. "Elrond and Celebrían, however, have to postpone theirs. Celebrían is considered too young."

_Well, _Estela thought. _She's older than me in some ways. _And that was true. Celebrían had never had to grow up like her.

She had been hiding for so long, she no longer knew what to do. To relax and be joyful. It left her utterly, frustratingly clueless. And she was no longer the joyful, delightful little child she had been before Finwë's death. Could she really rebuild again.

First she needed to discover herself. But she couldn't deny Ereinion had a strong attraction that drew her to him.

She sighed. "Will you be there?" she asked quietly. He looked at her. "If only to see you," he said quietly. "And to see you smile at me."

He bowed while she stood there in silence, and both left separate ways. He turned to look at her while she walked.

* * *

Estela went back to the weaver's house. Her mind was filled. She didn't even seem to realise where she was going.

She suddenly was very awkward, for all her experience and skill at doing things, and seemed too innocent almost to the point of naivety.

She never expected to get married. As mentioned, she had given up on that expectation before she even turned it into a dream, because it was unrealistic and unaffordable during times of war, and then time spent shunned and in hiding. They were a cursed line that was what people _had _said, no matter what they said now. And now she was expected to… well. What was she going to do and _how _was she going to do it?

That was the problem.

Did she love him or was it an attraction- a mere infatuation, like the one her uncle Tyelcormo had for Lúthien? He married afterwards, although he never managed to have children.

It troubled her. It could be love, but inexperienced, and unknowing as she was in this matter- of all the matters in the world- she had no way of knowing.

And if she prayed, would the Valar and the All-Father answer her prayers?

When she had supper and went to bed, it was all she thought about- or rather, she thought about _him_. It wasn't like an elf to make a mistake in this matter. But Finduilas- whom some claim to be Ereinion's own sister, which she now thought was doubtful- loved more than once. And look what happened in the end. The one she chose, decided to leave her to be pierced all over instead of saving her, as Gwindor would- he must have been her true soulmate. She made a mistake, and what if Estela did as well?

If she prayed, what would be the answer?

She went to sleep, and she was glad to have slept safe. Many elves came to live in Eregion and wanted to learn under their guidance and earn new skills from the great masters whom no one had believed remained. Lindon was growing even more prosperous because of them. And she didn't think Ereinion regretted allowing them to live there, even if she wasn't among their number.

She wouldn't think about that. She needed to sleep. There were dozens of people who wanted to learn how to make a Fëanorian lamp, and that secret had long since been lost until they brought it back. Thank goodness she and Telpe had been taught that.

She wondered what Ereinion would say.

And she fell asleep before she could eliminate that thought.

* * *

She hated dreams.

They were becoming so _bothersome _now. She dreamt a useless dream about her time in Valinor. It was the greatest celebration, but this time, the family would celebrate firstly by themselves before with everyone.

She dreamt of Findaráto or Finrod Felagund. She rather liked him as a child. He was Artanis' eldest brother. She remembered being chased by a boy who wanted to kiss her. She had run screaming to Findaráto for help.

It was a stupid dream. And she was glad when she woke up.

Imagine- if anyone knew about all her embarrassing childhood shenanigans- especially with a family full of such legendary figures… she shuddered. She would never hear the end of it.

She got out of bed and washed and dressed for the day.

Once she was at breakfast, she spotted Fëapoldon with something- a letter in his hand. "Trouble?" she asked, getting a cup of hot milk and some honey biscuits.

"Hmmm," he said sounding worried. "From Númenor," he said. "But not that big a trouble. Firstly, Tar-Palantir and his wife has had a daughter."

Tar-Palantir was the regnal name Inziladûn had chosen for himself. Just by choosing a name in the Elven tongue spoke of how he intended to change Numenor to what it used to be. It used to be glorious, but the King's Men put up and out-roar and there was trouble in Númenor.

"What have they named her?" she asked. She knew this girl would one day be the Ruling Queen of Númenor.

"Míriel," was Fëapoldon's response.

She froze and dropped a plate. It smashed on the floor.

Míriel, the name of the foremother who abandoned them all, and fuelled everything to happen.

No, it can't be.

She turned wide eyes towards him and instantly Fëapoldon thought about how careless his comment had been. He winced. He should have been more careful.

"Well, it's not a bad name," Estela tried to recover herself. She went and picked up the plate's pieces.

"Here," Fëapoldon said. He began to help her despite her protests.

Estela was distracted throughout the day. She wove and spun, she did a few sculptures and painted the ceramics she finished the day before. She even sold a painting to a trader. But her mind was elsewhere.

Then she received word from Telpe. His wedding was drawing near, and the bride-to-be wanted a dress made by her.

She rolled her eyes, but smiled nonetheless.

She even set herself to work on the types of fabric the bride might want. The rest would go for sale. Then she sent a message to her, asking when she wanted to come for fittings.

In the meantime her mind was free to wander.

And she if she thought the memories had stopped she was wrong.

* * *

"Atar!" Estela shrieked as she was hoisted up in the air from behind.

Her father laughed his golden laugh behind her and kissed her firmly on the cheek. He swung her around and she squealed with excitement. He chuckled as he set her down.

"Ah, there you are!" he called out teasingly to his wife who had emerged from the house. Despite being royalty she loved to cook and simply be in the kitchen. "I was wondering if you'd gone back to your father!"

She raised her eyebrows. "My father? You jest Maitimo. He'd never take me away _now_\- not even to see his grandchild."

"Mmmm," he murmured as he kissed her. "I wonder sometimes what more he would have thought up to keep me away from you, back then."

She sighed. "He was quite the schemer, wasn't he?"

"But thankfully my father and I scheme better!" Maitimo added cheerfully, causing her to bat his arm, playfully.

"Oh, hush. You just wait. When the boys all come for Estela, I'd love to see how _you'd _react!"

"Huh?" the shocked look on his face was so funny both his wife and daughter chuckled although the little girl did not know why.

"Well, you know it's going to happen sometime!" she laughed swatting his arm again. "Don't looks shocked!"

"No," he said shaking his head. "Not for a very," he walked over to Estela, "very," he picked her up and kissed her again. "Long time." He finished, and she giggled at the sentence.

"I'll pity the fellow," she said ruefully. He rolled his eyes. "There's no one, prince, king or anyone else that deserves my daughter." And he spun her around again.

* * *

Estela came back to reality, and found she couldn't move. So they did hope for it, once. Or rather her mother did. And no doubt her father would have much rather have seen her wed than endure everything she had had to for centuries.

But she had given up on that before she could even start dreaming. Now she didn't even know where to go.

How did Telpe do it? She thought. How in the world did he manage to woo and become betrothed to one? After all that happened to them?

Despite settling in so well, she felt so…awkward. Like she didn't belong in the world of romance, despite what others have written, spoken and sung of her. They made her sound not only like a heroine, but like a maiden from a _romance_.

How wrong they were. To romanticise her…. She knew nothing of love. Yet here she was suffering the fascination of men and elves alike, because stories had spread about her! Shieldmaidens themselves had long since been objects of fantasy to males. Dwarves didn't allow any, because there were few enough dwarrowdams as it is- their women were too rare and precious for their lives to be thrown away so easily. Men had few, because most believe that a woman's place was at her home, cooking, sewing, cleaning and tending to children and their husband's needs. Elves had a number, but not that many because most _ellyth_ preferred gentler, more refined practices- luxuries of being able to choose a peaceful life which she never had. All maidens were considered equal to _ellyn_, but few ever craved such a life- not only of adventure, but hardship.

She had not been able to choose, at least not for herself. She had been prevented from fighting in the War of the Jewels, but her father had taught her to fight, in case the need arose to defend herself. Afterwards she felt compelled to right many wrongs and save people.

But they were fascinating because they were so unlike other females and yet they were feminine in their own way. Instead of elaborating solely on the fashions and marriage, and having no ambitions outside of their settlements careers and homes, those that choose the path accept the ways of a warrior. It meant glory if one could achieve that level, but it also meant being hunted in some cases, being harshly treated, forgoing luxuries. Sometimes they were discriminated- common among men. And putting duty and honour above one's needs and wants- even wanting a peaceful life can at times be a distant dream. And although men dream about them- having a wife who was exotic, powerful and uncomplaining in many cases and could better understand the opposite gender as well as no one who was too needy- shieldmaidens place honour and duty before even matters of the heart. A shieldmaiden in a tale- an _elleth_, once criticised an aristocratic human woman for her weakness. She said that the woman was responsible for her own sorrows because of her deception (it was a long story, but the woman stole her lover and the shieldmaiden was more concerned about the deception than the actual loss itself), and scorned her saying that she could only weep and do never do anything. "Only do and speak of what only you can do and say. That is what is done by your type of maids. And while men and women wait on you hand on foot, of course you are satisfied and of course you learn to do nothing yourself."

But there were maidens who became shieldmaidens yet married and lived happy lives. A human shieldmaiden who left her adventurous life to marry and settle happily, yet whose granddaughter became a shieldmaiden and died in battle.

But how did they do it? Estela wondered. How did they manage to regain peace? Even if they did not crave adventure, surely after so much struggle and bloodshed they would have needed to adjust to an ordinary, peaceful life?

Suddenly she stiffened. Someone was behind her.

She turned slowly.

It was Ereinion. Really?

They stared at each other. The High King didn't look much like a High King. He was dressed like an ordinary soldier.

"I'll admit myself to be impressed," she said smartly. He arched an eyebrow in amusement. "You have an uncanny ability to arrive on scene whenever I am feeling… strange."

"'Strange?'" he asked. He gave low chuckle. "I simply sought you out."

She stared at him. "As the High King," she began, "I have Elrond running Lindon in my absence," he replied before she even finished. "And a number of councillors."

She looked at him suspiciously in the eye. "Do they know you're here?"

"No," he replied casually, leaning against the wall. His eyes wanderedto a tapestry. "They think I'm going on a hunt."

"I'm amazed they would think that," she scoffed. "People have been spreading stories about me… and you."

He straightened and went to her, kneeling by her stool. She looked at the tapestry before meeting his eyes.

"And what do you think?" he asked softly but with a strength in his tone that was hard to miss.

"I think that I am unsuited in many ways," she said quietly. "For the things they say about me. I am not an object to be adored and fantasised over. I remember nothing of love."

He was still for a moment. "You were a happy child in Valinor," he said finally.

"How can you know that?" she asked quietly. His face was so close to hers, he almost could…

"I never forgot," was all he said, and it was in a whisper.

She felt a touch on her hand. It was comforting, and she saw it was his hand. His fingers slid across her delicate ones, and grasped her hand. He rose, and pulled her gently with him. He then took her other hand… like they were about to do a dance.

It confused her. It puzzled her. She felt awkward and foreign. She didn't really belong there. But all thoughts dispelled from her head when she looked up and met his eyes. She saw gentleness. Now not even the brightness and richness of the colour in them distracted her. She saw strength.

He pulled her closer.

"Live, Estela," He said. "Don't hide in the dark anymore." If she didn't consider courtship and marriage with him, at least she could do that. He would be content. That was what he told himself.

But as he made his way back to Lindon, he knew he would not.

* * *

Estela saw him whenever she closed her eyes. It created a burning in her she never could have imagined. It was as if the further he went, he was pulling something inside of her in his direction. It sounded sappy and strange and she could have laughed if it wasn't so serious.

She sat down in her loom and sighed. Now what could she do?

Her hands started to work. She worked faster than human women, so it would be finished in no time.

Her hands danced, danced without her really seeing what was in front of her. Dyes, woven cloth, loose threads and her shuttle in her hand… her hands worked on instinct. She often wove anyway, when she was not fighting.

And they danced as if to a strange music…

Maybe she heard music- her uncle's music. He was a singer whose voice was told far and wide, and his skills with any instrument as well, although he loved the harp best.

And as her hands danced she wove many things.

Maybe she was sick of the stories, the rumours whispered about her, the songs and poems, and most of all, the accounts of her family, particularly her father, uncles and grandfather. She would remember them _her _own way.

And no one could say a damn thing about it.

And they danced furiously, weaving a story. She abandoned sleep, food and any type of recreation and other crafts in favour of this one tapestry.

Perhaps she would write one day, but first, she wanted everyone to _see_. To see what she saw in actuality, for themselves. Not to imagine a pale version of events.

Everyone whispered, and soon Telperinquar even came himself. She didn't even hear what he had to say. She didn't hear Celebrían come either, and didn't know about it until later. A spell had fixed her and by Vairë, for once she was going to get her story out and not some twisted or embellished account of her family's history and her life. She was sick of all they said.

She didn't care. Now, she no longer cared. She would get things out. And everyone could damn well go to Mandos if they didn't agree with her.  
It was the only way to get it out. She had kept it in for so long. Now it would come out. It felt like unlocking chains.

Suddenly she finished. She stood and startled beheld her work in silence.

Someone who had been spying or 'keeping watch on her', ran to fetch Galadriel, Fëapoldon, Maltariel, Celeborn, Celebrían, Vorondo, Telpe and everyone she knew.

"It's finished." she whispered. And she meant more than the tapestry. Tears rolled down her cheeks, unchecked for the first time, and she didn't care who saw it.

As everyone started to arrive they gasped in wonderment at the tapestry- at its length and its _beauty._

It looked so real, yet too beautiful and magnificent in all ways to be real, or even a dream or a vision. The detail was minute and perfect, the knots and threads tightly woven to be compact- yet so expansive were the scenes, so bright and rich did the colours shine that it could not possibly be _fabric_. But it was.

Only in Vairë's tapestries could they expect something like this. Yet here it stood before them.

Estela paid no heed to them. She looked at the fabric, at every scene woven and dyed into lush cloth. Her life through _her _eyes.

And in the beginning there was only light. In the end, there could only be light. Her life would not end in darkness, she had decided that. If Námo gave her a choice than she would take it.

She would never push Ereinion away.

* * *

Telperinquar's wedding celebrations was kept to a minimum, just the way both bride and groom liked. Estela finished the wedding dress and veil.

The air during celebrations were festive even if they weren't overly-grand. She was truly happy for her cousin. She strayed to the hallways of the citadel, though.

Her eyes were upon the tapestry. She still wouldn't be sure if she wanted it to hang permanently there, but now, there was no better place.

They were rebuilding a new life here. And for the first time since before Morgoth's release she felt free of shadow.

"Why are you smiling?" She knew who it was.

"It's hard to describe," she murmured. She touched the cloth.

"It's hard to believe that this is actually real," he stated. "Not some magic window."

"It's my life, through my eyes." She said. "It's not what everyone else said happened during these times, but it's what I saw and what I did."

He studied it. Ereinion allowed his eyes to go into a certain scene. There a little girl with copper hair streaked with gold and silver staged a play with two boys with red hair and another one who looked remarkably like Telperinquar. He chuckled.

"When was this?" he asked pointing.

She smiled. "Spring festival. Artanis- Galadriel decided to surprise everyone, by having us do a play. It was a comedy. Imagine our surprise when we realised a few of the Ainur were among the watchers! Even some of the Valar!" He laughed.

"And this one?" he asked pointing to another scene. "The first time I helped with the building of a ship," she said. "In Alqualondë. My grandfather Arcalimar allowed me to come with him. I had been taking arts and crafts and could sculpt because my grandmother Nerdanel had taught me. I sealed the jet eyes and the gold beak in place the way I was taught by my paternal grandfather and my father." She smiled wistfully. She no longer flinched from speaking to him and calling her grandfather as her grandfather.

"It's hard to believe they're fake," he said touching the threads, still in wonderment. But he was more in awe of her.

She touched the tapestry, her hands running lovingly through the happy memories- dwelling not on the pain. Suddenly, she bumped into his. He held her hand.

He smiled at her. His eyes looked moist. The High King crying? No one could imagine it! Yet she no longer saw him as 'the High King'.

"Estela what is to happen to us?" he asked quietly. She swallowed. "That is for you to decide. I'm taking your advice, after all."

He allowed himself a small smile before he asked: "Will you come with me to Lindon?"

She hesitated.

"Yes, I will," she said, and the pure joy bursting on his face shone brighter than the Two Trees for her. Brighter than the Silmarils and their false light.

* * *

_**Things have definitely changed. There is little to no action in this scene. Is it boring? Is the romance between them both getting too dry? But then, remember he's not a poet or a singer. He's a warrior and so is she, even if she did take a break. **_

_**Yeah, we really delve deep into Estela's awkwardness in her new situation. She can adjust to the practical things really well, but romance? She really didn't know how and what to do. But things will get more intense in the next chapter. Don't worry, no more disgusting scenes like the orcs in Chapter Twenty-Three! That was too much for anyone to bear, even a shieldmaiden!**_

_**P.S, the Shieldmaiden information and stories Estela claim to have heard and read are from real-life Norse Sagas. The shieldmaiden who spoke to the aristocratic lady is Brynhildr speaking to her love-rival Gudrun who stole Sigurd the Dragon-Slayer from her. The quote is changed and the story Estela supposedly readin different. The other shieldmaidens mentioned are based on the Hervarar Saga- the one with the grandmother and granddaughter who pursued the same life, but had a different ending. Tolkien based a lot of his work on Norse myths, so why not be influenced even a tiny bit?**_


	27. Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Seven

So it ended. Or so she thought.

Perhaps deep in her heart of hearts she knew that she could never escape her fate- she was one of the Eldar after all.

Estela dressed quietly. When she was done, she looked in the mirror.

She did not look like a warrior- she did not look as if she had known hardship, let alone loss. She didn't even look like she had ever used her hands to make the smallest of things or for fighting in her life.

Estela's mirror showed a maiden with the richest auburn hair like burnished copper, thick and curling, a thick fall to her waist. It was streaked with silver and gold which seemed more prominent than usual, a few curling strands framing her face with its pale alabaster skin and glowing cheeks. She looked as if she had been pampered all her life- rubbed and massaged with creams and oils, had her hair done daily, relaxed in jewels and constantly reclining in couches while sipping iced tea. She did not look at all like a shieldmaiden.

_Is this what my life would have been like if I stayed in Valinor?_ She wondered. She always thought everyone would have been better off if they didn't leave, but now- even though she was not so unrealistic as to dream it- but now looking at herself, she was not so sure. Yes, she lost her family in the worst ways possible, yes she was forced to go into hiding with the survivors she rescued, but she grew strong, unspoilt and undepending upon luxury- true her parents would have never allowed her to be like that, but she thought she would have gone soft and weak, untried and unknowing of the perils of their mortal friends, until she left Valinor. And she would have taken it all for granted.

Estela stood and looked down. Her gown was something she made herself- rich and detailed, yet elegant and simple- a sheer gold thing, glittering with miniscule crystal patterns in early spring blooms and buds. It was covered with gold and cream-coloured gauze differing in various sections all glittering, the crystals casting shimmering lights and patterns when it caught the light.

She wondered if she had been too daring, now that she looked at it closely. Some places the silk ended to be completely covered with a veil of gauze.

_Silly me, _she thought. _Foolish, silly me._

Did she even know what she was doing?

She draped her necklace of adamants and _mithril_ around her neck, where it rested quite comfortably against her collar. The dwarves' gift- _mithril _mined in Khazad-dûm and delivered to Estela as a symbol of goodwill and friendship.

The other elves had been bewildered. Estela had given them rich cloths and tapestries in return.

_Is this a sign of something good? _She asked herself.

But they had never found the darkness. Years after she was captured and held inside that fortress, the darkness still haunted her.

It stopped her sleep, made her wake up cold.

It hounded her dreams.

_The darkness crowded around her, choking her, making her gasp for breath. She couldn't even cry out. She couldn't do… anything. _

_It was worse than anything- worse than death. How she longed for death- the undisturbed peace of Mandos' Halls- how like Míriel Serindë she was, but she didn't care! She couldn't care about anything! She needed help, needed to get out-_

She had woken up then. Estela was cold and shaking once she discovered that she was, in actuality, safe in her chambers at night.

_I will never escape it, _Estela thought. _We may have found a place, our name redeemed, but nothing that has been done- the legacy of our deeds- will never leave._

The servant of Morgoth. Whoever that old woman was, she knew more than everyone else. Only a great evil could do such a thing.

Only a Dark Lord.

The thought chilled her, and she knew she shouldn't push it aside. But as much as Estela wanted to think further, she had to put that line of thought aside until the night was through.

And the night was through only after the High King's annual ball was.

Estela tried to restrain a heavy sigh as she placed a matching circlet with yellow diamond and adamants around her head. How long was it since she wore a princess' clothes?

Not since that fateful night when her great-grandfather died.

She would not think of that! Not now!

Estela stood up and pressed her lips while making for the door. She managed to compose herself and glided off, through the hallways, filled with suites reserved for the king's most honoured guests. She had been particularly suspicious when Ereinion had assigned her the most luxurious ones.

Maybe not suspicious, but certainly uneasy.

Estela glided off, and she arrived in the Great Hall whereupon all conversation stopped and everyone gaped.

* * *

Estela moved quietly through the crowd, while another pair of eyes watched her.

She didn't know who it was, her attention was filled with the elf upon the throne.

Ereinion Gil-Galad stared at her as if there was nothing else to see in Eä.

Estela walked up to him and curtsied low. She addressed him as _Ñoldóran_\- King of the Noldor.

Ereinion felt his heart rise sharply and jolt almost painfully, as if in shock at the sight of her. The room was suddenly strangely void of air. He rose and took her hand, ignoring the murmurs of the courtiers.

Estela didn't dare meet his eyes at first and then she did. Her heart leapt for some strange unknown reason when her eyes met his. She felt it flutter and found it difficult to hold his gaze. Herat pounding, she looked down, and suppressed a shiver running through every inch of her body.

Ereinio's voice appeared to have left his throat when he tried to desperately find it. But he managed a smooth, "Thank you for coming, princess."

"Thank you for inviting me, my king." She hid her uneasiness at being called 'Princess'. In fact, she often forgot she was one. She never forgot her family were kings and princes, but she always thought of herself as a shieldmaiden.

Ereinion tried to find something to say, unable to even think about tearing his eyes off her, when Estela's landed upon the form of a young being.

One would think he was an elf, but he was certainly more than that, as much as Estela herself could be considered human. He radiated with so much power and energy, and light seemed to strongly emanated from every inch of his form. Yet his ears were pointed and he was taller than most men. His hair was long and fair- so fair, it seemed to be light itself, the way it gleamed and shone. He smiled at her, and she was astonished to see him.

This being was more than she imagined.

Ereinion saw Estela's eyes move towards their new visitor and if he had been smiling (he truly was unaware) the smile would have been smacked off his face.

Something flared up in him so high that he felt immediately stunned to feel such a thing. Was it discomfort?

No, he never felt discomforted.

It was jealousy.

The hand that still clutched Estela's tightened around hers.

He forced a smile.

"My lord," he said coolly. He turned to the vsitor. "This is the shieldmaiden everyone talks about."

"And the spectacular craftsperson, I presume?" The stranger's voice was rich and smooth yet... was their strength of a foreign, alien kind? Something almost rough, but not when she checked it over.

Ereinion's eyes were cold. "Yes." He gritted his teeth.

Estela was captivated by this stranger. There was something... something about him.

Ereinion tried desperately to turn Estela's attention towards him. That _being_ had done enough damage already! Or was about to in any case.

"I was hoping you would join me, for a stroll outside." He smiled. "I fear the air is far too warm in here."

Estela blinked. "Yes," she agreed with him.

They left hand in hand.

* * *

Estela welcomed the cool air as its freshness hit her. She smiled, for the first time without restraint at Ereinion, grateful as she was.

He smiled but there was something else in his eyes. was the High King nervous? Surely not, given his reputation to keep a cool and level head during the most terrible of situations, including battles.

"It's a beautiful night," she said serenely.

He gazed at her. His dark blue eyes shone bright. "Yes."

She looked down. "I hoped you would come, but I wasn't sure." He admitted.

She gave a smile. "After everything you've done, how could I not?"

He tried to restrain a sigh. "What occupies you?" He asked. "Daily? What do you do apart from your crafts and practising your skills in combat?"

She looked down. "Nothing much apart from interacting and being friendly with everyone I meet. I wanted to see people from everywhere. I've been in hiding for so long. And you are right, I haven't lived."

Ereinion looked at her. "Yes," he breathed softly.

His heart rose, and he never wanted to let go of her hand. He held it all this time. Estela seemed to suddenly realise that, but for some reason she didn't pull away.

"I-" she wasn't sure which one of them spoke, but Ereinion seemed to be in a rush- unseemly and uncharacteristic as it was- when he spoke next.

"I wanted to speak to you, to see you," he said. Did he sound _desperate_?

"I didn't know how long it would be until I next saw you, and since these are no longer times of war, I wasn't sure I ever would, not until you settled permanently in Eregion."

She stood still and silent.

He took a deep breath. "I confess... my motives were not entirely kingly, unselfish and unbiased in allowing you to stay. I..." He found the confidence to go on. "I wanted you to stay. Even if it costed me my crown. Yes, I felt for your kinsmen and followers. Yes I wanted desperately to help them, but I..." He trailed off. He _was _desperate.

"I didn't want you to leave," he whispered. They now realise he was holding her close- close enough for their faces to touch... or their lips. When that happened, she no longer found herself in any mood to find out rather than accept it.

Her lush rosebud lips were slightly parted and she was breathing in small gasps. Of all things!

Since when did this happen? Since when did any male, elf or man affect her as much as the High King?

This _was_ the High King! But she could not find it in her to remember that. Or care. No matter how desperate she wanted to. In fact, she no longer found herself caring for anything, except the moment that was occurring then.

He was holding her too close. And she was growing too warm, too uncomfortable. And yet it wasn't boiling hot.

Suddenly the air didn't seem so cool any more. Just the thought of that made her blush.

She couldn't contain _that_. No matter how poised. She would find it laughable and appalling, that she, a shieldmaiden, would...

She would not go down that line of thought. She tried to speak, to say something.

But as she opened her mouth, she could have gasped in astonishment.

His lips found hers, and he kissed her and held her firm the way she never thought he could.

As if he would _never_ let go.

And Estela, losing all reason and ability to think, completely unlike what she was known for, kissed him back and clutched his strong shoulders.

She didn't know how long they stood there, and she felt him groan when she began to kiss him back. He pulled her closer as if that were possible, like he wanted to absorb her, to become one with her.

She couldn't stop. Neither could he.

He tilted her head and kissed deeper.

She kept going, not thinking, until her mind somehow began to wander.

She had flashes as if memories in her mind. Her cousin in his forge, the happy memories. The laughing. Ereinion calling out to her when she was incapacitated- held down by the darkness. His voice, his strong arms and warm hands.

His smile. The way his blue eyes burned.

And she remembered all the happy lives couples had, hand in hand with each other. She remembered the laughter and love between her parents, how affectionate they were. The closeness of her grandparents, how her grandfather's piercing gaze would soften when he looked upon his wife.

No wonder they thought it was joy. Because it _was_.

Her grandfather.

Suddenly her mind came back to another moment. she saw the flames of Losgar rise up and engulf the ships with her uncle in it. She saw the shadowy figure of Námo, Judge of the dead and Doomsman of the Valar, as he arrived, and the words he proclaimed to her kin:

_Tears unnumbered shall you shed, _Námo had said. _The Valar shall fence Valinor against you. On the House of Fëanáro shall the Doom of the Valar be placed..._

Her eyes flew open, without knowing they were even closed. Ereinion groaned and kissed deeper, pulling her, if it was possible, even closer.

_... slain may you be, and slain you shall be..._ the voice of the Lord of Mandos seemed to whisper in the air around them.

She gave a gasp and pushed him away as suddenly and as quickly as she could.

He was startled into shock and she pushed him and simultaneously pulled herself away until five feet stood between them.

He was breathing in pants. The kiss seemed to have burned deeper than his soul and heart and yet...

She pushed him away. Hurt and yes, anger, rose up inside him but vanished when he caught sight of her expression.

"Estela?"

She was not looking at him. Her eyes were on the ground, yet seemed fixed in a panic, unseeing anything. Her hands clutched the sides of her head as if she feared she was going mad.

"Estela!"

He tried to move towards her, but in a flash she sped away. She raced as far and fast as she could, her skirts shimmering in the moonlight and starlight.

"Estela!"

And as panic engulfed the shieldmaiden, she wondered if she had done something irreversible and dread and horror rose within her.

_What have I done? _

* * *

Ereinion was desperate to find her. He worried and cursed that he might have been too forward with her.

What had he done?

Desperation rose up within him and agony. He had to find her, where in Arda was she?!

Unbeknownst to him, Estela sat on a stone bench, clutching her sides, breathing in shallow gasps, rocking back and forth.

"Stupid me," she cursed. "Stupid, silly me. Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid _girl_!" She slammed her fists on the sides of her head, not pausing in her rocking.

What had she done? What had she brought upon Ereinion's head? She knew he would never quit pursuing her now, not now she had stupidly, carelessly, unknowingly kissed him back and made her feelings known.

Did she have feelings? She gasped at the thought.

She heard Mandos' words. The irrevocable Doom. The House of Fëanáro. Her House. Her blood. And all who were assembled there, were cursed- including her.

What had she done? She who lost everyone- or nearly everyone she had ever loved... How could she have possibly allowed her heart to open up again an risk Ereinion's life- _his _life, of all people!

She had to get away. She had to get far away.

Not too far away, in fact, not far at all, Ereinion was forced to go back inside- one of his councillors did that. He cursed inwardly and groaned, and knew that he would not sleep easy tonight once this was through.

Estela shook slightly and someone neared asking, "May I be of assistance, my lady?"

She looked up sharply. There stood the stranger from earlier, before- she cursed herself for doing that once more- her walk with Ereinion.

He smiled at her.

"There is no need," she said formally. She rose. "But thank you, nonetheless. My lord..." she trailed off. She never learned the man's name.

He smiled. "They call me Annatar, my lady."

* * *

_**Aha! Yes, I know, it's been a really long wait, but I had my exams! Are you satisfied with that kiss? Although if you were hoping for drama, or are sick of it, you clearly must know who Annatar is!**_

_**Oh, boy. What will happen? Whether its romance or something else- something exciting- things are bound to get crazy there. But don't worry, they'll have moments of peace and get on with things. **_

_**Warning: I can't make any promises though!**_


	28. Chapter Twenty-Eight

_**Warning! Premonitions- Spoilers ahead! Well, maybe not spoilers, but a few glimpses into the future!**_

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Estela's dreams were… disturbing.

Thankfully, she got a good night's sleep, but she still saw things in her dreams.

She saw sunlight. She saw sand-storms, or snow-storms rushing towards her, blocking out the sun.

She saw a meadow of beautiful flowers. She saw herself lying on those flowers, surrounded by a fragrant bed of green.

She saw herself floating. Fire- no, _lava_\- rushing towards her at top speed from within a mountain.

She heard laughter, and saw a banquet.

She saw soldiers fighting orcs.

She saw someone running with a massive harp slung upon his back- she heard whimpering coming from within.

She saw battles and elves marching.

She saw a city of gleaming marble, rising on three levels.

She saw a tree whose trunk and branches were as smooth and white as milk.

She saw her cousin hammering in his forge.

She saw herself, her hands held within Ereinion's, in front of a large crowd, dressed in white and they kissed in front of a cheering crowd.

She heard the cries of an infant.

She saw the rising of a dark tower.

She saw a figure with a huge harp slung across his back, and heard the sound of whimpering from within the instrument.

She saw fire burst out of darkness and a huge figure, in iron armour, crowned with spikes, raising his gauntleted hand.

She saw blood dripping from his finger, as black as the void filling a clear bottle with dark liquid that swirled forbodingly.

She heard evil laughter, and she saw a figure, as different as could be from the iron-clad one, surrounded in silver and gold light, with hair blacker and shinier than midnight, and eyes like stars. She saw her holding out a delicate finger and blood, gold and shimmering like Varda's stars, dripping down like Laurelin's dew into a vial.

Again she heard the cries of a baby. She saw Ereinion smile.

She saw a perfect gold ring drop and land on the tiled floor, and its sound as it fell echoed throughout her ears.

She woke up.

* * *

Estela shivered. This was the first time she did not dream of things from the past.

What did those visions mean? She felt like she could not dismiss them as some stupid dream.

A Dark Tower? Blood that was black and gold, and stored in containers? Ereinion? An infant? A huge harp? A figure in armour and another in light?

A gold ring? Her cousin?

What in Arda?

She got up and sat on the window seat, looking at the stars which always calmed her along with the night air. As if they might giver her some answers.

She stared at the skies.

She then remembered what the Maia messenger of Manwë had said.

Eönwë had told her... What?

If he had said what she thought he said, then why was she so afraid? Why was she hesitant?

_I don't know!_ Something inside her shouted. But she would not listen to that part of her and knew if she did it would do no good. She was never unproductive.

But this was another kind of matter.

She was afraid because she lost everyone she loved. She was afraid because she may or may not be cursed and thus this would mean losing the ones she loved. She was afraid...

Because she didn't know a single thing to do.

She sighed and groaned. She had been taught to fight. She had been taught to weave and to craft other things. She had been taught to read and write. She learnt the languages of every race in Arda. She knew how to cook. She knew how to heal.

She did not know how to love.

She sighed and buried her face in her hands.

She was never taught that. That future had never been an option for her... until recently.

_Why did I run away?_ She bemoaned. _Why did I hurt him?_

How could she be so stupid?

It was as if every choice and option, every action she took, was a stupid one, a reckless and dangerous course that neither guaranteed survival nor success.

The cautious, strategically-minded shieldmaiden had never felt so confused.

Why?

Why did she not think of him as the High King, despite his _obvious _authority? Why did she not want him to let her go? Yet why was she so desperate to save _him_ at the same time? Was that more than guilt? Why did she feel so drawn to him, why did his very image consume her mind?

Why could she no longer pull away? Why was she starting to feel that if she did, she would regret it more than if death had been involved?

_Why?!_

She groaned and went back to bed.

Why did this feel so inevitable?

* * *

Whatever the reason, when Estela went back to sleep, her mind was filled with images of Ereinion.

His smile. His warmth.

Him standing tall and strong, spear in hand. His eyes glinted like blue stars as he looked ahead, in a barren, rocky wasteland.

Him turning those burning blue eyes towards her.

Fighting, moving like liquid, his spear in hand. Aeglos whizzing, and landing neatly in its target.

Ereinion's shout of triumph. And another person- a man in gleaming silvery-white armour with a winged circlet rising from his helm, raising his sword high in triumph.

She saw a dark figure in iron, wielding a large, heavy mace.

She saw seas of orcs and trolls run towards Elves, Dwarves and Humans alike.

She saw the elves raise their shields.

But before anyone could attack she saw an island, a large lush island, turning to barren rock and being engulfed by the sea.

Waves swallowed it as if Ulmo himself had decided to consume the island-kingdom.

She saw a fleet of dark ships overtaken by a gigantic wave and darkness settle.

Again she saw Ereinion his spear in hand, his black hair obscuring his face as he knelt, on knee resting on the rock upon a cliff, where he stood.

She heard someone scream, "Father!" And once more heard the crying of a baby.

* * *

Estela woke up and drank a glass of water, staring at the distance. The sun was rising and the blue skies were clear and that calmed her and cleared her mind.

Feeling somewhat better, she ate a small breakfast, then decided to get dressed.

It was her cousin's wedding. Telperinquar, now known as Celebrimbor (something which he insisted having her call him by), was marrying Silmiel. Estela did not enquire about her past or heritage, that was none of her business. But Silmiel and Celebrimbor (she had to call him that from now on) loved each other deeply.

She sighed. _Why did I run away?_

What in Arda was she thinking?

Why was she thinking this?

Why couldn't she stop this? Why was he consuming her every thought? Why could she not bring herself to pull away? Why did she feel like it would shatter her if she could not see him ever again? Why was she so consumed by him? What was it that made him like this to her?

Why did she feel like she would be able to live with anything, as long as he lived? Yet why was he so important, if not as High King? Important enough to make her wish she had stayed? Why was that?

Why and what was happening to her?

She sighed and closed her eyes. Silmiel was expecting her wedding dress. The gown was one of her finest creations and Estela had worked tirelessly for it.

She smiled as she held it out in front of her.

Silmiel's hair was silver, a bright, gleaming silver shining almost like _mithril_. _Or my mother's hair,_ Estela thought. She remembered the Telerin silver waterfall on her mother's head, streaks of which adorned her copper.

The veil was gauze, trimmed in embroidered patterns at the edges in snowflakes, but not too much as her hair was very bright.

_They're marrying today, _she thought as she folded both dress and veil in boxes to take to the bride. She wondered about her own parents. What would they have thought about Ereinion? Well, she assumed they already knew about him, especially of his father was Findekáno. But how would they have felt? She knew they had no hopes for her to be married, because of her association (despite not doing what they did) with her grandfather, father and uncles. No good family wanted their grandchildren to be ashamed of their kin. It was a burden she had to live with her whole life.

_But I'm not the kinslayer,_ she thought. Yet she just couldn't abandon them, no matter how wrong their actions were. She couldn't destroy her love for them, and as far as others were concerned, her not turning her back on them, denouncing them or choosing to fight against them meant that she was in the wrong.

But what could she do, take her sword against her own father, who not only gave her life, but gave his all to protect and raise her, to be better than them. She could not forget that. And no one knew them, not anyone who heard the stories of the kinslayers, knew them, because they never met them.

_Why can't I forget him?_ She thought. _Why all of a sudden is he the most important thing to me?_

Once again her thoughts turned back to Ereinion.

This made no sense. She had no idea what was going on. Why she was afraid and exhilarated at the same time, to see him. Why her heart danced in both terror and anticipation when his hand made contact. Why could she not forget him? What made him so special? What was she feeling? Why was she feeling all of this?

These questions and frustrating thoughts swirled around like flies upon a bloodied carcass. Estela stopped what she was doing, sank to the floor on her knees and let the boxes down, while her hands went to the side of her head.

_Why? _

'Why' was the biggest unanswered question. 'What', however, was something she could easily figure out, no matter how reluctant she was to find out.

She loved him.

* * *

The wedding proceeded smoothly. It wasn't a large ceremony or feast. But the way they celebrated, one would have thought they were back in Valinor by their exuberant, contagious joy.

The couple said their vows in a grove beneath a canopy of blooming flowers with vines and small glowing coloured lights (similar in composition to their grandfather's lamps but smaller) and lanterns.

There was a meadow adjacent to the grove where the festivities would take place. This was done under Estela's guidance, because she preferred the outdoors. She thought it would be better rather than a great, brassy hall.

The bride was beautiful, her silver hair in sharp contrast to her new husband's dark. Everyone feasted, danced and sang, and Estela thought she finally found peace.

In truth she was afraid of that. If time in Middle-Earth had taught her something, it was that hopes are easily and so quickly dashed, time and time again.

She learned that the hard way. Why should everything change?

The darkness, whatever it was still remained. Call her pessimistic, but no one ever figured out where and what it was.

Or who the 'servant' which the old woman warned her about, was.

She watched them dance.

And yet she couldn't forget _him_.

Estela drank from her glass and sensed a presence nearby. She turned and to her surprise found someone near her.

It was the one who called himself Annatar.

He smiled and walked closer.

Estela straightened. She admitted silently that his presence was a welcome distraction from her thoughts.

He nodded. "My lady,"

"My lord," she responded. "I had no idea you knew either my cousin or his bride." Annatar smiled.

She thought it was a refreshing change from her brooding. "Only for a while," he shrugged. "I met Lord Celebrimbor a while ago. We talked a bit about metal-working and gems. The techniques and differences which characterise everything."

She raised an eyebrow. "You have an interest in such things?"

He smiled. "I love his work, and most importantly, I love how he works. His diligence is admirable and his precision and attention to detail is astonishing. And I am also interested in how you both manage to build trade alliances and friendships with other races."

She smiled slightly. Estela found that she had somewhat relaxed since he started talking. Her mind was no longer fettered with brooding thoughts.

"I have had my fill of enemies, I never wanted to make," she said quietly. "I'm not my grandfather, or my uncles. Vengeance is hollow. Morgoth needed to be stopped but I..." she trailed off. "I would have not allowed my hate to cloud my mind. I'm sure Manwë still remembers he was his brother and it must hurt." She went silent.

"They hurt you, didn't they?" Annatar asked softly. "Your family?" Then he said, "Forgive me, my lady, I am too forward."

"No," she shook her head. "They loved me, and I knew them and remembered them for who they were before Finwë's death. But I don't seek to deny their actions, no matter how I loved them. They should have known. I've had years to think about this. They were playing into his hands."

Annatar stood still and watched her.

"They played into his hands," Estela said. "He wanted them to go against the Valar, and my grandfather, blinded by his grief, rage and paranoia, thought the Valar were working against him. To be honest, Morgoth should have never been released, but that was necessary. We were going to face the Dark Lord anyway, but we should have worked together and build ties, rather than severing them and making us weak. Look at what happened. Some were indifferent and uncaring of the fact that a Dark Lord needed defeating- _Elu Thingol _for one - whilst others were consumed with other feelings and motives apart from defeating a great evil, which should have been the most important priority- that being my family of course, and admittedly Beren and Lúthien- others who did have the power and their hearts in the right place did nothing those who had the power and strength, not merely the supernatural, but political. Those who stood and fought were weak and alone- Túrin Turambar stood alone and he was manipulated by Morgoth. I could have fought, but my father ordered otherwise, I do not mean to sound proud and critical of others but if he wasn't so insistent-" her face darkened "- nor if anyone would not have held all Fëanorians in suspicion- thanks to my kin- I would have given my all. As it happens, now I live with my regrets." Her mood darkened.

"Did you really think that you could have defeated Morgoth?" Annatar asked.

"I doubt it," she scoffed. "But at least I would have done something- something that might have even turned the tables. Even a small bump of good is enough to topple a great evil. I never would have matched him in strength, and he was cunning, but Morgoth was blind in many ways- he saw the beauty of Arda and instead of choosing to contribute, he sought to destroy it."

Before either of them said any more, Ereinion came forwards. Estela started when she saw him.

He had seen them and simmered in jealousy- she seemed so at ease when talking to him, but when she revealed her innermost thoughts, Ereinion stopped and listened in.

But he would speak to her.

"My lady," he greeted. "My lord Annatar," he acknowledged coolly.

"My King," Annatar replied. Ereinion nodded coldly, and asked, "Will you walk with me, my lady?"

She just stood there silent and frozen, before blinking and nodding.

The two of them left the celebrations.

They walked side by side and Estela struggled to find what to say. When she turned towards Ereinion he was the one who spoke first.

"Congratulations on your latest alliance," he said quietly, "And on gaining a new cousin. But that was not what I wanted to talk to you about."

"No," Estela breathed out a sigh. She knew what he was going to say.

"I wanted to talk to you about what happened that night- most importantly, what will happen."

She was silent.

"I apologize if I was forward," he said quietly. "I truly am sorry. But what of the future?" he looked pleadingly at her.

"Things are so different now," she said quietly. "I'm still getting used to the idea that anyone actually wants-" she shook her head.

_I'm not the only one, _Ereinion thought. But he wouldn't speak that out loud to save his life.

"Things have changed now, and they are the better for it," she said quietly. "I keep waiting for something to happen- anything that would destroy everything. Time and time again, if there was anything constant in all my centuries, its the pattern of destruction, hope and brief joy, and dashed hopes with destruction again." She hung her head and shook it.

"I am ashamed," she said looking up. He frowned. "It isn't your fault," he said quietly. She shook her head. "I ran away that night. You did nothing wrong. It was me. I should have known better. I am sorry." Her voice was so quiet, soft as down. She looked into his eyes when she said those words. Emerald into sapphire.

"I-" she took a deep breath, unsure what to say, and unknowing how to convey her feelings, before Ereinion suddenly came forwards and kissed her.

He kissed her with all the fire of that fateful night, yet more. His heart burned. She responded back in turn.

This time she didn't pull away.

And as the dancing and singing took on new heights, Ereinion and Estela held each other close and their foreheads touched.

It seemed they wouldn't separate.

* * *

Annatar closed his eyes. To the untrained eye, he was a wonderful creature, a being of benevolence and gifts.

But no gift comes without a price. And soon the price of gifts would be extracted.

The visions he saw obscured everything. Estela, granddaughter of Fëanáro. Her future.

She was vastly, almost limitlessly important. Only a fool would not believe so. Even ignorant Men knew her to be important.

But she would either be his greatest ally and accomplice- or the cause of his downfall.

Save for her cousin Celebrimbor, there was no one else left of the House of Fëanáro. And out of the two of them, who was the one most likely to be a threat? Estela.

She was not easily swayed. And she was aware of the manipulations of Morgoth, and the mistakes of everyone who fought in the War of Wrath, and she would _never_ make any of them. Not in a million Valarin Ages. And she was formidable, highly intelligent and talented, to put it mildly. She would be the greatest threat or help.

The House of Finwë. For many an Age, the House of Noldorin Kings and Princes were the greatest and most feared enemies of the Dark Lord Morgoth. Out of all the races of Arda, there was none he hated more than the elves and out of all of them, none he hated more than those of the House of Finwë.

Nelyafinwë Maitimo was wise to hide his child from him.

But Nelyafinwë was gone and so was his family.

Instead Estela became the greatest resister to Darkness- her and the High King Gil-Galad.

But soon, another Dark Lord will rise in Arda.

And he would not make the same mistakes as Morgoth, while continuing his work.

* * *

It was a poorly-kept secret, now. One which was maintained for appearances' sake- for appropriateness.

But everyone knew why the High King came so often to Eregion, and the other reasons why the Lady Princess Estela came to Lindon's capital other than diplomacy and trade.

But the dreams hadn't stopped.

Mostly she had nights of blissful dreams and peace.

But then strange visions occurred in her sleep, and even nightmares.

They weren't too bad, just disturbing.

The Darkness in the fortress. The figure wreathed in fire and with an iron helm, spikes crowning it. A great eye, lidless, made of flame, with slit-pupils like those of a snake's, filled with such malevolence, she could not possibly imagine or describe it.

She saw herself and Ereinion in a hall full of beings of all races.

She heard the sound of a baby crying as she saw drops of viscous, thin blood dripping from a finger, in a mostly gauntleted-iron clad hand- dripping right into a clear bottle, swirling around ominously. It was foreboding.

She heard the baby scream.

She saw flames burst out of nowhere, and heard someone- frighteningly familiar- scream, _"No!"_

She saw her cousin, tall and proud, shaking hands with a white-clad figure with golden-bright hair and fairness of features.

She saw him hammering in his forge, with a hammer forged of _mithril_, of such astounding beauty, the sound of it striking like bells, ringing a pure note, while the light flashed as it caught on the white-clear metal.

She saw sixteen rings forming a circle, each adorned with a gem. They glowed with power, not just light and she knew these were not ordinary rings.

She heard Artanis-Galadriel's voice. _"We have been deceived."_

She saw a figure in iron armour- the same figure- with spikes crowning his helm raising his fist high into the air.

A perfect gold ring gleamed upon it, as the lava rose above them, roaring of evil.

She saw Ereinion speaking with various elves of different cultures and with humans and dwarves as well.

She saw herself with him, speaking to everyone.

She saw her cousin handing out something to Ereinion- and to Artanis.

She saw a figure covered mostly with silver light, like stars, whose hair was blacker and more shining than polished jet and whose eyes shone like violet stars.

She saw the figure reach out a delicate hand- she was a female- and gold liquid, glittering fall down into a vial. She saw her own hands taking that vial.

She heard the coos of a another baby.

She saw a sea of orcs charge through, while somewhere, her cousin screamed a scream that wrenched anyone who heard it in pieces- a scream which spoke of heartbreak, agony and loss.

She saw dead figures on the ground- one was a small girl, with black hair- a rare elven child.

She saw an elf with fair hair, carrying a huge harp across his back, out of which the cries and whimpers of a tiny child echoed from within.

She saw a shieldmaiden on horseback, sitting tall and proud.

* * *

Estela did not speak of her dreams, but when she rose for the day, her mind wandered longingly to Ereinion.

She drank a cup of tea, the smoke billowing and rising from the liquid.

Dreamily, still tired, her eyes wandered from her breakfast of leftover cake, to what lay outside her window.

It was her cousin.

Telpe- Celebrimbor walked near the sea, with another. That other spoke to him. Celebrimbor listened intently.

The figure had such gleaming bright, fair hair and the fairest face.

But then he said something that made her cousin throw back his head and laugh. But the other one stood still and his eyes- even from a distance, Estela saw them glow.

They glowed with orange-yellow flame, like the ones she saw in her dreams, accentuating the pupils, which were dark as the void.

And for a single instant, she could have sworn they grew thin rather than round, into slits, like a cat's or a snake's.

The eyes of the Darkness.

It was Annatar. And yet it was not.


	29. Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Twenty-Nine

The days passed as a joy, for once, the first time since the sun shone and the Two Trees were destroyed.

Suddenly the light of the sun and moon did not seem so bad.

Suddenly it seemed to shine.

It symbolised rebirth, renewal. The sun may set but it rose every day. And not even Morgoth dared go near Aren the Maia who guided it. Ithil's glow penetrated darkness and seemed to drive it away.

Estela fell into a simple pattern. Life seemed brighter and more peaceful but although she adapted, it wasn't right to forget everything. She still trained as a warrior, even though she wore gowns more often now and jewels.

Ereinion came more often and their meetings were… well, they were the greatest source of joy in her life, something to look forward to.

But some things did not change.

Estela was walking on the beach one day. It was in the Grey Havens- the port were elves set sail from to Valinor. She didn't once look at the horizon, never once allowed herself to wish to be allowed back, but she did look at the ships.

The ships.

They were lighter, narrower and more graceful than any other race's vessel. Their sails were not lowered but the material still gleamed and shone like moonlight. It didn't need much water to float and was deceptively strong and sturdy in comparison to other vessels. But most arresting of all, was the white swan's head at the prow. The figureheads so agonisingly, heart-wrenchingly familiar.

The figureheads she had carved and set with gemstones in happier, more innocent, untroubled times.

The beaks were still polished gold. Their eyes were jet. Their dainty heads curved into elegant, graceful necks, straight into the prow. To commemorate the swans that pulled the _Lindar _or Teleri to Valinor after such a long journey, and losing a king.

She remembered the happy days in Alqualondë. How in the beaches, she had spent considerable time, being lifted in the strong arms of one of her cousins or her grandfather from her maternal family, or even her father, to set and seal the stones and gold in. It was happy days, the memory of undisturbed innocence, and sweeter dreams untainted by bitterness and sorrow. She often heard the sound of laughing applause by the watching elves and gazed excitedly at her reflection in the swans' eyes or beak, beaming broadly. In time, she even learned to carve the figureheads as well, and took great pride and joy in her work.

She learned to do that, before she learned how to spin and weave, or even swing a sword. In those days she was just as strongly associated with her mother's people as her father's. Perhaps even more so. She was more comfortable running in the sands, splashing in the waves, gathering sea-shells, feeding birds and building sand-castles and singing, than standing in a forge, letting heat consume her or growing numb and frustrated at the apparent ease yet deceptive difficulty of making statues, and being covered with dust and grime in an enclosed space. As she got slightly older she grew to love the arts and games of the Noldor as much as the Teleri, but the latter's arts and crafts came first.

She felt wetness in her eyes and running down her face, but she didn't pause. Didn't pause in the memories of picnics in the sand, chasing terns and gulls and singing around a campfire after dinner. Didn't pause, but remembered the time she dived and found a pearl deep beneath, and played with the dolphins who kissed her and took her for a ride, while the Maiar of Ulmo smiled nearby.

She remembered comparing sea-shells with one of her cousins, and squealing when they found a lobster. Or mimicking a crab. Or chasing each other with strands of wet sea-weed.

If Eönwë was right, then the _Lindar_ never really did forget or disown her. But Alqualondë was a distant memory, more than an Age. And the last she saw it, it was wreathed with fire and blood.

She refused to think about it. She accepted her fate, even if it meant she would never return, at least she had a new life in Middle-Earth.

"My apologies, my lady for intruding, but it looked like you needed help." She looked up sharply and turned around.

There stood an elf with silver hair and a slightly-creased face. Few elves had lines but although his eyes were bright and fresh, the look they held were wise and ancient.

"Not at all," she said and drew back.

She tried to smile but it was strained.

He bowed his head. "My lady. Are you sure you are alright?"

"I-" she took a deep breath. "I'm fine."

"Then why the tears?"

Estela started. She had forgotten she was crying. Normally she held them all inside, but seeing those ships again…

She laughed. "I didn't know what I was doing."

The elf nodded. "I see," he said an understanding light in his eyes. "You are somewhat like him, you know."

Estela was startled. "Who?"

"You forefather's brother. He too gave his all for his people and his family. But he was strong-minded and firm when dealing with outsiders. Sadly, you are more clearer-minded than that when it comes to such matters. You place their lives in higher value than I ever thought anyone could." The last part was said with such frankness, Estela stared.

"I knew him," the elf moved forwards. He was clearly one of the oldest ones. Was he one of the Unbegotten- the ones who woke in the light of the stars in Cuiviénen? Surely not, there were none of those left in Middle-Earth!

"Did you?" Estela found herself both staring and asking. She tried not to stare- it was rude.

"Yes. I knew them both, Olwë and Elwë, or later as he was known, Elu Thingol. The two brothers. One of which was your forefather."

She smiled sadly. "Don't I know it."

"I suppose then, the memories must be painful. These boats can mean anything. But I noticed you never glanced at the horizon. Only the figurehead."

Estela was silent for a while. She turned back to the figureheads.

"I used to play," she said. "On the shores of the Haven of the Swans. Where the diamond dust shimmered and the pools and tides lowered to reveal gems. My kin would lift me, high in the air, to seal the stones. Black jet for eyes, gold for beaks. And in time, they taught me how to shape the curving heads and graceful necks of the birds that pulled the _Lindar_ to Valinor and to play and sing the songs of the sea and sky. Where the dolphins leapt and the sea-gulls crowed and the swans stretched their white wings and extended their long necks, between the stars and the sea."

There was a very short silence. "Happy days gone by, but not symbolic of lost hope."

"Maybe," she looked away.

"Where are my manners?" The elf mused. "I am Círdan, Lord of the Falathrim. Kin to your forefather Olwë and Elu Thingol." He chuckled at her astounded face. "It is a pleasure to meet you, my lady."

She stared. "I thought there were none of my kin left on Middle-Earth save for Galadriel, Celebrían and Elrond."

Círdan chuckled again. "You've been looking on the wrong side of the family, my dear."

"Not so," she retorted. "Artanis Nerwen or Galadriel is my mother's kin."

Círdan boomed with jolly laughter.

"True, true," he chuckled. "I mostly live in the Havens of Elglarest and Brithombar but I often come here."

"More people coming or leaving?" Estela asked skeptically. "Arriving," Círdan replied.

"At least it's their choice," Estela muttered, her hand reaching up to touch the swan's head again.

"You never made that choice, did you?" Círdan asked. "But if you had the choice, like your mother to either stay in the bliss of the Light of the Valar, or spend what could be the last moments on Middle-Earth with your father, which would you choose."

She looked down. "My father," she said, feeling like a child who'd given an answer that left them trapped.

"So," Círdan sighed. "You have nothing to hate yourself for.'

"I don't hate myself," she said quietly. "Not any more. In fact, I'm learning to forgive even myself, because I don't want to be bitter. But…" She trailed off.

"I wish," she said slowly. "That they hadn't died. I wished… I could have done something. And I wish… I wish my forefather Olwë and Arcalimar my grandfather did not come to an argument with my paternal grandfather over, not only the ships, which was what had been written, but me."

Círdan watched her silently.

"There was nothing you could have done." He said. "You were a child. Children may be intelligent and talented, but even then…" He smiled sadly in sympathy.

She smiled. "I know." But her shoulders slumped. Even though her mind was clear of any brooding thought and she felt more at peace, sorrow lingered.

She was used to it.

But she now had someone to look for.

However the beating of hooves sounded, and a horse and its rider galloped into view. Estela frowned and approached.

"My lady," The rider gasped. She recognized him. This was one of her elves- Alarcon. His eyes were wide. "Some of the Greenwood are in flames and under attack. In the wooded valleys of the River Anduin- orcs have attacked them- in huge numbers!"

Her mind jumped. _Orcs! _After so much peace since Ar-Gimilzôr had died and his invasion called off, one could hardly expect, of all things to happen, even cowardly orcs who started to attack smaller settlements, or lone dwellings of men. Dwarves could also be taken, they mostly lived in heavily-fortified places underground, although the orcs want the territory for themselves. No one managed to attack an elven settlement outright.

Until now.

Without even stopping to think further, she ran to her horse and jumped on it.

"Have the others been alerted?" She demanded. "Yes, my lady."

"Then we ride. They meet us three miles south of the Anduin." "Yes, my lady." They rode off.

* * *

Estela's eyes were wide, and her armour was hidden beneath her clothing.

Her clothes were mostly greens and browns but with a hooded cloak that his an assortment of weapons.

True enough, the forest was blazing. She could hear screams of elves from within.

The Sacking of Doriath came to the forefront of her mind, but this time, it was not elves attacking but rescuing elves. The differences were not lost on her. But orcs knew no reason.

Woodland warriors so far from the capital of _Amon Lanc_ were few, and those that were fighting were very hard-pressed.

While the forest burned Estela instructed one half to engage the orcs and come to the aid of the fighters, and the others to sneak quietly in and get the survivors to safety. She would help distracting them.

But the fires burned higher- the workings of some clumsy or vicious orc, no doubt.

Estela unsheathed her blades and started slicing through them like water. They screeched and howled, clumsily stumbling backwards when they saw the shieldmaiden they so feared and heard, her hair shining even brighter than the flames they had started.

She cut them down with knives and shot long-distanced ones with bow and arrow. When she drew her twin blades they screamed and tried to get as fast away as they could.

But it was too late for most of them. They started to draw back. Estela pursued. "Get the survivors!" She screamed.

She'd been doing this for so long now.

Several were paralysed and screaming. She grabbed three at once and pulled them away just as a massive oak fell. She shoved them (no time for gentleness) into the waiting arms of one of her comrades and ran back for more.

She shot down an orc about to kill. This elf was a young one, barely out of childhood. She pulled him away.

More elves came to her when she beckoned, starting to gain in hope. She kept running back and directing the ones who could go.

The flames roared and the orcs vainly snarled and shot arrows in vain. In all honesty, fighting in a place that was burning or somehow in the process of being destroyed is not at all easy. Trying to avoid arrows and enemies, even those mostly in retreat, and burning branches falling from trees, as well as the trees themselves, wreathed in flame and toppling down and burning patches on the earth is always going to be a struggle. Even though elves could breathe more easily and are quicker and stronger than humans. But add to that was trying to rescue others.

Estela lost track of the time. She forgot the number of people she pulled or directed to safety. Numbers didn't matter if it was all. She saw the flames rising higher and knew they had little time, even as Alarcon called out to her they had to leave. But Estela heard cries.

Shock never even fully took root before she ran towards the direction of the sound. She jumped over a fallen tree. She ducked under branches and ended up in the front of a small house surrounded with flame. One heavy tree had fallen on top and crashed in, yet she could hear the cries of at least two children inside.

She didn't hesitate. Upon coming closer. She held her breath. The house's windows and door were opened- perhaps the owners were making their way out to safety when the tree came crashing down. But the open windows revealed dense smoke inside. A good thing elf-eyes were very strong as well as sharp.

Inside she glimpsed the figures of not two, but three small children. They stood coughing and crying and beside them the body of a fallen _elleth_. One glimpse was enough to tell her that she was dead.

Estela ran forwards, grabbed the children, swinging one on her back and making sure the child held on tight, and the other two under one arm. Amazing, but she did it.

She rotated the child on her back to her front and clung to the three of them when she started running.

She heard Alarcon calling her name. She kept running just before a tree fell in front of them, running until she glimpsed Alarcon and Maltariel who managed to join them, preparing to catch the children. "Hold on!" She screamed throwing first one then the other. The child on her front whimpered and wept as she prepared to toss.

But something creaked and rumbled above. She didn't bother to look to determine what it was. The distance was too far, and strong and fast as she was, she would not be able to make it to safety with a child.

She did what she prepared to do, a long time ago. She threw the child and seconds later the tree crashed and everything went black.

* * *

Darkness came. It was not a pleasant darkness.

She saw flames which swiftly vanished, but not before she caught the gold flash of a falling ring.

She saw a figure covered in iron armour, holding his fist up as lava splashed and rose around him, gold on his gauntleted finger before the darkness came again.

She saw the same iron-clad fist holding its hand out, with black, viscous blood, thinner than normal blood, dripping down into a clear bottle, turning its insides black and watching it swirl forbodingly.

She heard whispers and saw a baby. But it could not have been outside of a womb, this was a foetus. All curled up, knees against its little body stirring ever so gently. But it faded to an outline of red light and black darkness and she heard its cries. It was crying, crying… why and what for she did not know.

But it was worse than death.

She saw her cousin hammering in his forge, each blow ringing and catching the light and making it flash.

She saw sixteen rings in a circle their gems glittering with a secret power as they floated in the darkness.

She saw her cousin hammering away and she knew he was making them.

She heard Galadriel's voice. _"We have been deceived. _

"_The Darkness grows."_

She saw seas of orcs attacking tall, bright elves in armour.

She heard a desolate, heart-shattering scream. _"No!"_

She saw Ereinion standing tall and proud, Aeglos in hand ready to stand and fight.

She saw numerous armies, and alliances being forged by good and evil.

She heard the coos of a different baby, and saw another unborn child, soon obscured by the figure of a _being_. Whose hair was blacker than midnight, yet shone with light infinitely brighter than she imagined, with eyes like violet stars. Her delicate finger was held out and blood the colour of liquid gold, glittering as if true gold flakes and adamants were within, dripping down into a vial.

She heard the baby's coos once more as she held the vial of gold in her hands.

She saw an elf with fair hair, marching away, a huge harp slung across his back, the coos echoing from within.

She saw a shieldmaiden, and a princess.

She saw Ereinion.

* * *

Estela had yet to return to the world of reality as Celeborn watched over her, he felt a stirring of concern.

Gil-Galad was at the tent, kneeling beside her, his hand grasping hers, his face a mask of anguish. The High King was dishevelled, some hairs escaping in little strands from the rest, his face smeared in soot and ash in places, still wearing armour and travel-wear.

Galadriel's eyes were closed, but she passed a hand over the motionless Estela. Elrond felt her pulse.

"Darkness grows," Galadriel murmured. "If this was a mere injury all would have been healed. Her _fëa_… is disturbed."

Ereinion's eyes shot up, and his face was white despite the soot.

"Something is not right," Elrond agreed quietly. "Nothing appears to be out of order with her _hröa_, it is merely her _fëa._"

"Merely?!" Ereinion half-shouted but somehow half-choked.

"_Merely_? How do you fix a problem with a _fëa_?!"

"Rest," Galadriel murmured. "And peace." She bent down and kissed her goddaughter's head.

Estela did not even stir or sense anything.

Ereinion would not be dissuaded from his anguish. "The last time someone tried rest to fix a broken _fëa_, that person departed for the Halls of Mandos and never returned!"

Obviously everyone knew who he was talking about. Her foremother. Something burned clutched tightly in his other hand, and his eyes blazed with agony, anguish, panic and more.

Celeborn stood. "My king," he said softly. "Take a rest. You shall do yourself and Estela no good if you continue like this."

Ereinion opened his mouth, certain he was about to start a shouting fit with the silver-haired Lord, but Círdan touched his shoulder and pulled him away. Gazing back, with half-longing, half-grief, he knew Celeborn was right, he wasn't helping anybody, but it did not ease the pain and fear inside of him.

Once again he had never felt so helpless.

* * *

"Who did started the blaze?" Oropher snarled.

"It was the orcs, sire." One guard panted. "The survivors claim-" Oropher looked murderous.

"In all my years- and I have lived for a very long time- I have never never heard of the orcs planning such a thing. They attacked dwarvish and human settlements, yes, often set them ablaze. But to dare take our own people and plan such a destruction, on such a large scale…" Oropher shook his head. "Orcs are cowards. And fools. They will never take us full on. Yet we sent troops to secure the borders. But few of the survivors recalled ever seeing any. What happened?" He demanded. "What happened to them?"

A soldier shook his head. "We do not know my king. All we know is that they set forth, as you ordered, yet few arrived, and those are dead, slain in combat with the orcs."

Oropher turned to his son Thranduil. "What does this mean?"

"This was deliberate," Thranduil said voicing what his father was so desperate not to hear. "Someone planned this. Someone more than orcs. Who or why, I cannot say."

Oropher shook his head. A soldier, one of Gil-Galad's he recognized, came riding into view.

"What news of the lady shieldmaiden?" Oropher asked.

"She is still in the realm of the living," the soldier replied. "But she lies in a fragile state, her _fëa_ is disturbed."

Oropher chose not to enquire further. He only prayed that she would live.

"Damn them," he cursed. "Whoever planned this, damn them."

* * *

Annatar stood silently at the edge of the encampment. His gaze was watchful and wary. Galadriel, taking a break with Elrond looking over Estela and the others who were wounded, but she saw him and watched in silence.

For one moment she saw his eyes, glow, orange-gold, like flames, and his pupils turn as black as the void. She paused.

Annatar's gaze turned towards the healing tent where Estela lay.

Galadriel watched his every move.

And yet she felt it would not be enough.

That wasn't even the worst bit. Once the survivors were all patched up and streaming into _Amon Lanc_, the king of the Greenwood turned his attentions to hunting down whoever was responsible.

If only he knew.

* * *

"Is it time?" Varda asked.

"Aye, it is time," murmured Vairë, weaver of Fate and wife of Námo.

"Soon fate will take its course. And whatever comes next must be borne. The wonderfully good and the suffering caused by evil. Estela will play her part. But she is not the only one. There will be others to continue the plan."

Varda closed her bright eyes while others looked troubled.

"And what of the non-inheritors of that house?" Vána asked.

"They have a vastly-important role to play. But the inheritors, including she have no less an important one." Nienna replied.

The Valië watched in silence at the crystal pool watered by Nienna's tears and Varda's wells.

* * *

Estela lay there, her spirit hovering between the light and the dark.

Galadriel sought out Celeborn and Elrond.

"Whoever was behind the attack, I believe that Annatar played a part, and has yet to for the sake of evil."

"What do you mean?" Celeborn asked sharply.

"He has been benevolent," Galadriel replied. "But no gift comes without a price. Not in Middle-Earth."

They absorbed her words in silence.

Estela lay in a twilight realm.

Suddenly she was there again.

Ereinion's face flashed before her eyes, his eyes, his smile…

But then she was running through the meadow near Tirion. The New Year's Festival was about to begin.

She ran shrieking and giggling with glee as Maltariel and Itarillë tore behind her. She always ran faster than them.

They dodged tables laden with food and elves in fancy dress, where they came across several Maiar.

"I'm warning you, Mairon," One of them spoke. "Let them be as they are today. No one has betrayed our trust. No one has committed murder or theft or violence in any form. There is no need for all but to relax on this glorious occasion."

The one named Mairon shook his head and growled. He was a tall figure, with long, silky, black hair and a slim, elegant, chiselled face. He glowered menacingly.

But Estela gazed at him and could have sworn his eyes turned orange-gold, as if there were flames inside of them, and his pupils black as pitch, narrowing to slits.

Mairon.

Annatar's face flooded in her mind. His hair was gleaming bright and fair, his skin whiter, but something remained the same- the shape of the face, the features.

The eyes.

They were no elf-eyes. No human eyes either.

Mairon.

* * *

Estela's eyes finally fluttered open. But she was weak. Her dreams were chaotic, confusing, but the same.

These were no mere dreams.

She could not sit up. For some reason she felt so weak.

How could she be such a fool, she thought, as to reveal her innermost thoughts to Annatar?

She had no doubt this was the Maia named Mairon. But why he was here in Middle-Earth she did not know. There was something about him that seemed not to be as pure or honest and true as the other Maiar she had met and seen in Valinor.

Why was he here? Surely the Valar could not have sent him? Unless…

_Five slaves,_ the old lady said.

She got out of bed only to find in startled shock, that Ereinion knelt by the foot of her bed, his eyes glazed over. He in a waking dream, no doubt.

"Ereinion," she gently touched his shoulder. Her voice shook as she tried to wake him. "Ereinion?" Startled, he leapt out of sleep and his eyes flashed onto hers. He sat there, breathing heavily.

"Estela," he breathed.

The two of them kissed, rather passionately and Ereinion held her close, afraid to let go.

"Don't ever do that to me again," he whispered. She sighed and rested her head against his shoulder.

"I love you," he whispered.

"And I love you," she responded. She closed her eyes tightly, not wanting ever to leave this warm and happy embrace. Here she felt happy and safe, merely because he was close by.

"I was afraid you'd never wake," his voice was muffled by her hair.

"I kept seeing you," she whispered. "In my dreams. I could not help it."

"So did I." he reluctantly pulled back. "Estela," he choked. "Don't go. Don't ever leave me. I don't want… I can't bear…."

"Ereinion," she whispered.

"Stay with me," he whispered to her. "Don't ever leave me. Marry me."

She drew back, her eyes massive, her mouth open in shock. What was he saying?

Of all the things she had ever expected to hear from him, or _anyone_, it was not that.

But something inside her had changed. Even though there was the threat of the darkness that loomed, and the problem of Mairon/Annatar to be solved, Estela could not help but feel that to reject him, was to commit the gravest regretful mistake she had ever made in her life- something which not only struck her with fear to the core, but threatened to shatter her heart.

So many centuries she'd lived. Yet it appeared, that the few meaningful, happy days, were never enough. Were tainted with something. Were cut short, or ended with regret and haunting grief.

Even a minute was him was undeniably precious. Priceless, even.

She knew her answer. And come what may, she would never regret _this _one.

"Yes, Ereinion, I will."

* * *

_**Here, I hope you're happy! Wanted this all along didn't you? Haha! I know Celebrimbor is not mentioned as having a wife or children in the books, but in the Shadow of Mordor, well... I find it too compelling to leave out, and I'm trying to settle everything the best I can. **_


	30. Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty

"Estela," his hand brushed her hair.

Both he and Estela stayed there, holding each other close for a long while.

Estela closed her eyes, leaning against the warmth of his tunic.

She wanted to stay like this- forever.

But forever was not an option. She stayed instead for as long as she felt they were able to.

"Ereinion," she murmured. She knew he felt the same way. He held her close and felt as if he didn't want to let her go. He was only whole now- for the first time- like this.

"I love you," he whispered. "I just wanted you to know, before or if anything ever happens- I love you. And I would have done anything for your happiness. I still would."

She sighed and pressed herself closer towards him. "Time," she said softly. "For an immortal, I don't appear to have a lot of time. I never did."

"But now we will have all the time we can hope for," Ereinion insisted. "For all eternity. Together. And I swear I won't let anything happen to you, as long as I exist in this world."

"Don't go," she murmured. "I never want to leave. Not ever. I want to stay with you."

"Forever," he agreed. "Nothing will prevent me from doing just that."

* * *

They had no time to celebrate just yet.

"Mairon," Estela said calmly.

Galadriel breathed in sharply. "Mairon? Mairon the Admirable?"

Celeborn's sharp eyes found hers. "You know him?"

"He was one of the Maia in Valinor," Galadriel explained. "Although why he is here... escapes my notice."

"He is here for a purpose," Estela muttered, shaking her head. "He would not worm his way into the heart of the Noldorin kingdom for a reason."

The elves present- Celeborn, Elrond, Galadriel, Ereinion and Estela stared in silence at one another. Celebrían was not present- she was busy.

"What reason?" Ereinion asked quietly.

Estela took a deep breath. "We cannot turn him away, can we?" She asked.

Celeborn shook his head. "If he truly is a Maia, then we cannot risk turning him away. But if he truly is, as you say, the servant of Morgoth, then we would need sufficient proof," he admitted reluctantly.

Estela sighed exasperated. "Look, did you not see? Did you not feel it? His light!"

Celeborn frowned. "He is filled with light."

"That's not what I mean." She replied. "I see his light. But I cannot feel it." Elrond raised an eyebrow. "I lived in Valinor, I met Maiar not everyday, but often enough. I can tell, even when I don't see their inner light, even when they hide it, I can always feel it. Always see it when I close my eyes on them. Mairon-Annatar- he has no light. I can see it, and that is what he wants me to see- his brilliant hair, his eyes and skin, but his inner light? The light which always came from within a good creature, most evident in one of the Ainur? No, I could not see it, feel it, or sense it in any way."

The revelation dropped upon them like a boulder.

Ereinion looked at her worry directed towards her in his eyes. She understood, she felt the same way.

"I have to tell my cousin," Estela declared. "Celebrimbor must know."

He grabbed her arm, before she left. His eyes and everything about him conveyed a million unspoken words, which were once incomprehensible, but now suddenly, understood.

"Be careful. Be safe." Was all he said.

"Aren't I always?" She smiled.

* * *

Celebrimbor stood working in his forge.

He had received the news extremely late when it finally became clear to everyone that Estela was on the mend.

It angered him, and so only Silmiel, who decided to help at healing, knew sufficiently enough to help with enough time to prepare.

In the meantime, with his wife (secretly expecting a child now) having left, Celebrimbor's anger, anxiety and fear was washed away, strangely, by the one who called himself Annatar.

How strange was it, that this person could wash such depressing feelings away like water washing something clean of dirt? Celebrimbor didn't know. All he knew was that he struck up a warm friendship with the visitor and the two of them enjoyed discussing the various features and properties of various metals and stones.

Celebrimbor hammered the sword. It was red-hot as he hammered and flipped it on the other side to hammer it evenly. He lifted it, then plunged it into a trough of brine. The liquid sizzled and steamed filling his nostrils but not stinging his elven-eyes.

He lifted it, having cooled somewhat, and moved onto the next part of the forging.

Or at least, he would have if Estela had not appeared out of nowhere.

Celebrimbor almost dropped the sword.

"You're here," he said blankly.

And she looked alright, much to his shock.

But then he shouldn't be surprised.

He left the sword on the anvil and wrapped her in a tight embrace.

She hugged him.

There was something about her, how she glowed and looked... at peace the way she had never been on Middle-Earth.

"Estela?" He asked.

She took a deep breath. Were her eyes... shining? He could not tell.

"Telpe-Celebrimbor," she hastily corrected. "Ereinion and I have become engaged."

His jaw dropped. She was shining alright.

Her eyes sparkled and shone.

"Congratulations," he managed.

He supposed he should tell her his news.

"Silmiel is expecting," he managed.

Estela's eyes widened and she laughed. "It appears good things happen all at once," she mused.

"I am happy for you," he said. "Truly."

"And I you." She smiled.

But then her mood dissipated. "Telpe-Celebrimbor, we have enemies amongst us."

And at that his relief at her health and his amazement at her announcement vanished. "What do you mean?" He asked.

"That blaze was not set accidentally, and not by some dim-witted orc either." Estela replied.

"Then who?" He demanded.

She took a deep breath. "I don't have proof-"

"Then don't go making accusations," Celebrimbor said. "It's not like you."

Her eyes flashed. "I'm just telling you what I've heard and seen."

She told him everything the old woman had told her.

He looked at her incredulously. "The word of an old mortal who had never seen the War of Wrath with her own eyes-"

"She was no mortal." Estela said sternly.

"No mortal could have known the things about me which she knew. She was sent by the Valar."

"The Valar?" Celebrimbor was even more incredulous than he had been before. "The Valar had long given up on us, ever since our grandfather went mad and our fathers and uncles came after him."

"Completely?" Estela demanded. Celebrimbor stared at her.

"Now you're engaged, all of a sudden, the world is suddenly a brighter place?"

"As if!" Estela snapped. "I was getting to that bit!"

She spoke to him about the remaining servant of Morgoth.

He stared at her and shook his head. "Estela- how do you know she tells the truth?"

"The fire- no stupid orc could have set that. Yes, they are capable, but to attack and set fire to an elven settlement- no orc would have ever dared- not since a darker Age- an Age we've all lived through."

Celebrimbor felt chills all about him.

"My cousin," Estela's eyes were mournful. "Be careful. Be wary of Annatar."

"Annatar?" Celebrimbor asked incredulously. "What do you have against him?"

But before she could answer, someone appeared. It was Annatar himself.

Estela's eyes were suddenly icy and if Annatar was uneasy, he did not look like it. In fact he seemed amused.

The two just stared at each other with Celebrimbor bewildered by this sudden turn of events.

"Lord Annatar," Estela said coolly.

"My lady," Annatar said cheerfully. "I am glad to see you recovered.

Estela's eyes narrowed.

"As am I," Celebrimbor was eager for them to avoid coming to blows with one another. "I shall take my leave, if you have more important matters to discuss with my cousin," she said icily, before turning on her heel.

Celebrimbor shook his head.

"I truly don't understand her," he muttered. "It's as if every time she's taken an injury something has affected her mind. I'd expect that from a human, but her?" He shook his head.

Annatar looked at him sympathetically and approached.

The two of them began a conversation which soothed Celebrimbor and made him happier.

Estela knew it was futile to argue her case- after so many centuries of agony and loss, her cousin did not wish for something as such to happen again- even if he chose to shut his eyes. And now that he was married and expecting to become a father, who could blame him?

But she knew Annatar could not be trusted.

She waited until Celebrimbor and Annatar had left, and silently, secretly followed them. When Celebrimbor left his companion, she chose to walk forwards.

"Mairon" she said calmly.

Annatar's back stiffened as he heard the name and slowly turned around to face Estela. Estela's eyes were filled with knowing, so much that Annatar knew he was suspected.

"Pardon?" He asked.

"Mairon the Admirable? Wasn't that your name on Valinor?"

"The Admirable?" Annatar let out a laugh, dazzling as crystal bells, that made her think of paradise on Valinor. "You flatter me, my lady."

"Not so," Estela straightened but kept her distance. "Wasn't that what they called you?"

There was a silence, but very short as Annatar stepped forwards. "How would my lady know?"

"I saw you once." Was the simple reply. But if he was truly a Maia, then she knew she was no match for him, whether he was one of the Fallen or those that basked always in the grace of the Light.

"Did you?" Annatar appeared pleased, but there was something else ominous in his tone and expression.

Estela gave a strained smile. "I hope you enjoy your stay in Middle-Earth, Lord of Gifts," she said before walking away.

_For it won't be long._

* * *

As people in Lindon were celebrating the news of an impending Royal Wedding, the Greenwood was in a state of unrest.

"Whoever planned this was very clever indeed," he muttered darkly to Thranduil.

The two elves and the soldiers of the Woodland realm had been marching off to quell unrest by orcs in their northern borders, only to find that elsewhere they were under attack. Many elves had died, and tens-of-thousands or hundreds-of-thousands would have if Estela had not arrived. The amount of people she saved, including small _children_...

It actually did seem to make up for what happened at Doriath and Sirion. More people were saved by her, than those that died _there_.

But more distressing, was the diabolically clever planning involved. Whoever thought up of this was not some blundering orc.

They knew that the warriors would be elsewhere. They knew that the king and the prince would not be present to help the dying and distressed. Even more diabolical, they seemed to _want _Estela to be there- to rescue others.

But surely they knew they were no match for her.

This was a sign, he thought. A sign for something greater.

And Oropher could not shake off the feeling that something more terrible than he feared was coming to pass soon enough.

* * *

Silmiel and Celebrimbor's baby was born shortly after the damages to the Greenwood were repaired, the investigations to the attack were declared fruitless and the wedding preparations were going through.

The girl was born in the light of the stars, seemingly more brilliant than usual, pure and promising. Fëarillië was her father-name; it meant "Spirit of Brilliance" in their tongue. Her mother-name was Eleniel.

Her hair was raven-dark, like her father's (and her forefather's) but seemingly touched with the starlight in which she had been born. Her eyes were a brilliant dark blue. Estela held and washed her after the cord was cut, wrapping her in the soft blanket she had specially prepared for the day.

Estela smiled at the infant and for once, she did not feel as if it was cruel, to bring an innocent child into a cruel world, and potentially a curse. Possibly because some said that Varda's light, present at the baby's birth, was a good sign.

She handed the infant over, then walked out to prepare for other things.

The fruitless investigations did not make her easy. But things were about to change anyway.

* * *

The palace was being cleaned and anything shiny from table-tops and tiles, to delicate ornaments like vases and statuettes, were polished and dusted. Garlands of flowers were hung everywhere and while everyone ran like mad disagreeing with the flower arrangements, the coordinated colours, the blooms themselves and the silks used, inside Estela's room everything was calm.

The wedding dress was a creamy-ivory silk. In all honesty, the time she spent working on this dress was not as copious as Estela thought it would be. It wasn't overly-elaborate, but it was rich and it was elegant, but simple enough to be stunning. It had a fitted bodice that hugged her tiny waist, but softened and flared at the hips into a full skirt with an elegant fan-shaped train. The bodice was embroidered with pearls and wispy layers of snowy lace in sections and the bottom, and a delicate band of pearls and crystal adorned the bust but the skirt had few pearls and lace and mostly at the top, being decorated with gold embroidery mostly. But the veil had pearl, crystal and lace appliqué decorations, and as Silmiel and Maltariel draped it over her hair (curled and gently waved tomorrow), Estela tried desperately to relax… by thinking of other things.

Annatar was not invited to the ceremony or the celebrations, much to Estela's relief.

"Beautiful," Maltariel breathed. "More beautiful than my imagination could ever predict."

Estela smiled, and they helped her with her shoes. She tried to keep herself calm. But it was hard, as her parents, and any of the older generations of her family, would never be present for the ceremony and celebrations.

Galadriel would be taking part in the ceremony, in her mother's place. As her mother's closest friend and kin, it was her duty and responsibility, as well as her honour.

Also conspicuously absent- the groom's parents. But how wonderful it might have been, if both sets of fathers, who were the closest of kin, were to witness that day.

But what could have, and should have been, were lost forever.

This day marked the future, not the past.

And so it was that Estela selected and made her wedding clothes and jewellery. They were happy. She fussed over and altered the designs several times. But she knew the material things were not what mattered, only what came after the ceremony.

Maltariel discussed the numerous foods served on the menu, while kitchen-hands scurried around, making sure they had enough venison, wine, vinegar, salt, fruit and whatever they needed.

Estela permitted herself to hope for the future.

She just wondered how long it would last.

* * *

_**Next Chapter: the wedding! I know everyone's been hoping for this bittersweet moment (few family members after all, but so happy!) Annatar **_**is _going to make an appearance, unfortunately, but only at the end and in secret._**

_**I chose the name Silmiel for Celebrimbor's wife, and I'm starting to call him by his Sindarin name now. The father-name of their daughter (the Noldorin custom is to have the parents give one name each) Fëarillië means "Spirit of Brilliance" and obviously bears an uncanny similarity to ****Fëanáro. Her mother name means, "Daughter of Star." Celebrimbor would likely prefer to be called by his Sindarinized name, rather than his original one, as it would probably remind him too much of his painful past and the shameful actions of his father, grandfather and uncles. But it doesn't mean that he wanted to cut ties with them completely.**_


	31. Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-One

_**Now's what we all know was coming. What bride and groom will be oblivious to- nothing running their special day of course- is an unexpected, uninvited guest- like Eris in Greek mythology, holding the golden apple- except in secrecy. But don't worry, as I said, nothing will be spoiling it for them.**_

* * *

"Is everything going as planned?" Annatar asked.

His black eyes were a striking contrast to the fairness of his flawless chiselled face and the gleaming brightness of his hair. But they gleamed with something else, more ominous.

"Yes Master," an orc, hidden in the shadows murmured deferentially. It twitched nervously.

"Master, what of the elven High King and his bride?"

The speaker was human.

"We shall be quiet, and thus bide our time." Annatar hissed. "And we wait."

* * *

The day dawned brightly.

Little Eleniel, was growing quickly, in mind and in body (for an elf-child). And she gurgled and giggled as her mother attempted to get her to behave.

Estela stood in front of the vanity, as her hair was combed, and gently waved, curling in places framing her face. She had taken a bath, but though she was rosy, she was also pale as she felt a strange calmness settle on her.

All her fears had apparently vanquished, and after so long, it was as if light had bathed everywhere and everyone about her. While her closest friends and the few attendants selected for her tore from chest to chest, to armoire, to the massive closet that held the wardrobe she would need as queen, Estela was silent, and her hands folded on the table.

Her bitter, miserable past had vanished. The future seemed clearer, and brighter. It was impossible to believe, so much so, she didn't dare, and yet…

Was it possible? Maltariel did her hair, stroking the gentle waves and artfully arranging the curling strands around her face. She did not even see herself in the mirror. It was Ereinion she saw, Ereinion she hoped for.

And Ereinion she feared for, in case anything should happen to him. Maltariel arranged several jewelled adamant pins in place and the beautiful diadem of _mithril_ and moonstones and adamants. She smiled at Estela in the mirror, and fanned her cheeks, which, Estela belatedly realised, were flushed.

"Calm, now." Maltariel said cheekily. "You're almost done. Soon, it's time to put on the dress."

Everyone girlishly squealed and Estela smiled as she rose. She was pale, and nervous, yet she was calm, but exited and flushed, so…

What in Arda was happening to her?

She stood as the dusted her with a powder to keep her dry throughout the long day, and everyone held their breaths as the dress was slipped over her head, easing it gently over her hair, and lowered over the shift.

Silmiel and Maltariel spent some time, arranging the dress, making sure there were no wrinkles or anything. Galadriel came forwards and held her hand as they slipped on her shoes, ivory silk embroidered with pearls. She stroked her hair, soothing her and simultaneously smoothing her hair, before the veil was put in place. Galadriel/Artanis smiled as she handed Estela a gold ribbon.

"What's this for?" Estela asked.

"Look at the end," she instructed.

At the end, was a gorgeous _elanor _blossom, carved out of adamant, which Galadriel fastened to her hair- beneath the veil, it was still visible.

"Your mother's," she murmured. "Your father gave it to her but she made the ribbon to hold it in place. I wish she would be here on this day, but alas, you will have to tell her all about it someday in Valinor."

Estela stared at her, but Galadriel merely smiled, and moved on to speak with some of the attendants.

She swallowed, as the final pieces of jewellery were fastened, everything was arranged in place and they pronounced her ready to go.

Galadriel took her hand, and led her out of her rooms, attendants trailing after her, and Maltariel and Silmiel rushing out. A carpet of rose petals lay on the marble staircase, and the fragrant scent of flowers- Númenórean _laurinquë_ and _elanor_, roses and myrtle. The attendants moved in front and showered petals.

The place was gleaming. The enamelled or jewelled walls were incredible, polished and shining. The priceless tapestries were thoroughly cleaned, and the paintings in their frames held not a smudge or smear of dirt or dust. Every ornament- statuette, vase, anything at all, were shown to brilliance and flowers in wonderful colours stood out, but didn't look garish. The smell wasn't overly-cloying either. She also smelled _nimphredil_, and saw it was among the small bouquet of myrtles and roses they gave to her to hold.

_This is all so fast, and yet took centuries in the making, _she thought. In fact, there were times, she was certain, this was never an option- she gave up any expectation of such a life, long before it was even an option for her to choose.

And yet, it didn't feel so wrong. Even a shieldmaiden as she was, did not feel out of place, at such a ceremony and a life, even though she knew war and grief.

The throne room was where the ceremony would take place.

She wondered who would stand in for Findekáno as he was dead, but it did not matter.

Nothing mattered, except to see him again.

The polished golden doors opened and there, in front of a crowd of well-dressed elves, men and even dwarves, stood Ereinion and Círdan (it appeared the role was his to take).

Ereinion's eyes lit up when he saw her. It was as if he was daring himself to hope. He was resplendent- magnificent, even- in blue and silver trim, with stars on his sur-coat and lighter blue tunic, bronze-coloured trousers with slight gold embroidery and a circlet of silver on his brow. It was as if he was daring himself to hope. He shone with the brilliance of a star and looked as if he such joy that he had never occurred, came upon him. Galadriel gently guided her forwards and even though Estela felt she should feel awkward at such an event, suddenly, she forgot everything- the large crowds, and suddenly restrained herself from rushing forwards to him.

When all was seated, the ceremony finally took place.

The _nimphredil _and _laurinquë _seemed to bloom further and emit fragrant scents. The _elanor _and _vardanirianna _were bright and seemed to shine with the happiness of the day as Estela and Ereinion's shining eyes met and this hand took hers. Galadriel and Círdan had pushed them gently closer together, before taking their joined hands up into the sky.

Their vows were ancient, spoken before the sun shone and the moon glowed. As if this was in Tirion instead of Middle-Earth, they spoke the ancient words.

Moonlight fell upon them, magnified by the glass of the windows.

The two swore to take each other as spouse, even should death sunder them, even in the worst of times, in any place, in any state, at any time. Nothing would tear them apart.

Galadriel's eyes actually glistened, and she smiled, but something settled about her, as well as the joy of the evening. She felt that nothing would ever sunder them, and that their joy in each other would only increase. Nothing will mar the sweetness of this marriage, she thought. So why did she feel as if something was about to occur?

But the blessing would take place and soon, it was her turn to speak.

Galadriel came forwards and intoned the words, like the vows of bride and groom, in Quenya.

"_Nai Varda Tintallë laruva ellor Estela-va ar Ereinion, ar nai Eru Ilúvatar alyuva tet." _

"_Nai__Manwë Súlimo laruva ellor Ereinion-va ar Estela, ar nai Eru Ilúvatar alyuva tet." _ Círdan's voice joined, soon after.

Ereinion smiled, as he slid Estela's silver ring off, and slipped a gold one on her forefinger of her right hand. Estela did the same- his ring was bigger and heavier than hers.

The couple raised their hands to the sky, with Galadriel and Círdan's aid.

They pronounced the couple married.

* * *

Cheers resounded throughout the hall and for a moment Galadriel shone. Nothing marred the joy of the evening or for any moment to come.

Or so it appeared.

The celebrations began and the cheers still resounded, ringing in the couple's ears as they made their way to the Great Hall.

Just before the celebrations, Galadriel presented Ereinion with a gem- a dark blue star-sapphire which was tradition. Estela received a gift from Círdan- an emerald gem with silver stars and roses, _elanor_ and _nimphredil_.

The feast delighted all present, with delicious smells and artistically-decorated dishes.

But in all honesty, Estela could remember very little of what she ate that night. All she was aware of was the warmth of his strong hand, the brightness and blue of his eyes. And the need to be in someplace private with only him.

But sadly, this new life of hers could afford no such thing. Not even when her father was the High King's grandson, did she enter such a public stage as the centre of attention.

But she saw only his eyes, and the softness and shining joy inside. And his brilliant smile.

"I hardly had enough time on my own with you," Ereinion whispered in her ear. "Let everyone else enjoy themselves, let's just leave- you and I."

"Where?" She whispered. "In the gardens." His eyes danced. She shook her head, ruefully. "You know they'll notice. They'll think it's rude, and of the High King, no less, to leave his own guests. And what will they think of me, in my first day, as your wife?"

He grinned, beaming so happily that she almost laughed. She shook her head silently and then whispered. "Maybe if they're too occupied with the wine and the dancing later on," she whispered. His hand tightened around hers. "I've been looking forward to this," he said, mock-resentfully. "You might as well indulge me."

Not too far away, Artanis/Galadriel smiled. But she saw a movement at the corner of her eye and frowned. There was something that should not be here, but was.

Not too far away either, Oropher, dressed in pale blue, laughed over a glass of wine with Amdir of Lothlórien.

Galadriel frowned. What was it?

Silmiel was crooning and playing with her infant daughter. Celebrimbor stood nearby, alternating with talking to guests and amusing the child.

The dwarves were enjoying the wine, and no one seemed to notice if they were getting rowdy or not. Amroth, son of Amdir and Nimrodel his beloved stood further away from them. The leader of the _Elendili_ stood chatting with some of Celebrimbor's fellow craftsmen. His sister, sadly, was too ill to attend.

Nothing seemed out of place.

Galadriel frowned. Her newly-wed daughter and son-by-marriage held hands and looked happy themselves. Celeborn was discussing something with one of Círdan's elves.

There was only light. And she felt it. But she also felt… something else.

She heard laughter and music. Wine and delicacies flowed like spring water, and there was dancing. Nothing seemed wrong.

Not even the absence of the bride and groom.

* * *

Estela finally agreed to go with Ereinion, in secret, to the gardens.

Ereinion grinned as he kissed her and suddenly pulled her tightly to him. She laughed freely, like she had never done before, which only increased his joy.

Estela opened her mouth to say something before he pressed his lips to her mouth.

"Hush," he said. Ereinion produced something from his pocket, which hung on a delicate chain.

Puzzled, Estela took it, and held it to the light.

"Something for you to wear." was all Ereinion said.

Ereinion's own wedding gift to her.

She gasped when she beheld it. Not so much because of its beauty, but because of his thoughtfulness and the gesture itself. It was a pendant, shaped similarly to a crest made of gold with engravings of knots and interlocking squares, from top, bottom and sides which met into a single polished malachite gem in the centre. The beauty of the pendant was not lost on Estela, but neither did the fact that she could wear it even wearing something like armour, or anything as fine as a gown as the one she wore.

"I-" she found that she couldn't speak. "Ereinion…" She swallowed. "You didn't. "I did. For you."

Her eyes sparkled with tears. They glistened in the light of the moon and stars. Now, truly now, did she feel like the shadow that had been a part of her life, was gone. Now there was only the light of the stars- and the light in her husband's eyes.

"I love you," she whispered. There she was, unafraid, unbroken and untouched by darkness.

He smiled broadly, and underneath that smile, was the shine of tears.

"And I shall always love you." He whispered. "For all eternity, wherever in Eä, in light, darkness, sorrows and joy. Forever and completely."

But even as they kissed, they had no idea, they were being watched.

* * *

Galadriel, still inside the Great Hall, frowned. Something was not right.

Celebrimbor, dressed in scarlet velvet with gold vine-and-leaf trim and black, was laughing with a goblet of wine in hand. His wife had taken baby Eleniel to bed.

But there was something else surely.

The Lady of Light closed her eyes. Melian had taught her, centuries before, many things which some would consider magic.

She expanded her consciousness, and even peeked into the shadow world. She saw only light. Light and joy and love. But there was something else.

Something lingered on the outskirts of it all. Something was fast approaching. Like the shadows of a storm, that would soon cover the bright sky, something was very distant, but undoubtedly approaching.

She wondered what would happen and how long they would have.

The night ended with everyone too merry from drink and dancing, by the time the couple went to bed. As her mother was dead, Galadriel gave the bride her blessing for the night, and all days and nights to come. They went away, with the cheers of the crowd (most of which were so intoxicated they did not even know why they were cheering), and the blessings of their closest friends and family left alive.

Galadriel noticed the absence of the usually-present minstrel Vorondo, one of Estela's companions.

But she also noticed someone who wasn't supposed to be there.

As the couple left, Galadriel froze as she spotted someone talking to Celebrimbor.

A certain someone with hair so fair and bright it gleamed as if it were light itself- it was hard whether to say the hair was golden or silvery. But the skin was fair, and the face was slim and chiselled as if carved by Nerdanel herself. In contrast the eyes were black, but they changed to silver, then to something else- an orange-yellow, like flames, and the pupils darkened and seemingly narrowed into slits.

Annatar was there. And, yes, something by far was not right.

* * *

"How is your daughter?" Annatar asked, seemingly serene as he poured Celebrimbor another goblet-full of wine.

"Thriving," he replied happily. He swilled the wine down.

"Yes, I'm sure." Annatar replied. "With a father like you- your skill with metal is extraordinary. And I've heard that you managed to imbue certain properties into metal and gems."

"Yes, the Power-jewels," Celebrimbor replied. "Estela thinks I'm inviting trouble, but we've learnt to store energy in the gems themselves. Higher quality gems, such as diamonds are best, but gems are not always necessary for a piece of jewellery to have power to, say, produce a shield, or hide in the shadow world by turning invisible to the eyes of others. Some jewellery are able to find gems and metals themselves- the dwarves would love that," Celebrimbor laughed. "They've recently asked for my help in forging the doors of Khazad-dûm. We've so much to learn from each other."

He drank his wine again. Annatar's eyes glinted. They glowed orange-golden, but Celebrimbor failed to notice.

"I'm sure," Annatar said smoothly. "You and your cousin are wise to befriend the dwarves. Most elves think themselves too high and mighty to associate with such beings."

Celebrimbor scowled. "Most elves…. They think _our _family are the disgrace, but they look without kindness upon others. You know some elves hunted a whole clan of dwarves into near-extinction?"

"The petty-dwarves, am I correct? Annatar said smoothly. In all honesty, who cares what they think? In all these centuries, you were the only ones doing the real work, whereas the Wood-Elves hid away, not caring even if Middle-Earth was on the brink of destruction and every other race…" He scowled. "Who was it that stood against Morgoth? You did all the _real _work."

Celebrimbor drank.

"Who cares and who will protest if you do great works?" Annatar asked. "Those power-jewels… they could just be the beginning. The beginning of more… of something greater."

"Hmmm…" Celebrimbor, son of Curufin, son of Fëanor responded, drinking more from his goblet.

* * *

Galadriel watched them with wide eyes, an icy chill filling her everywhere about her person, and daring not to breathe.

But she could not just arrive on the scene and shoo Annatar away. If he truly was a Maia, sent by the Valar… she dared not think of the consequences.

Celeborn was chatting away with some lords of Lothlórien, which she did not bother to identify. Her husband, dressed in white silk with silver lamé patterns and surcoat looked distinguished, but thoroughly pleased, as if he saw nothing out of place. Thranduil and his betrothed stood murmuring to each other. The Woodland Prince was resplendent in a green surcoat embroidered with gold vines and leaves over a darker green tunic with a silver tree. His circlet caught the light as he tossed his head back and laughed carelessly with his beloved by his side. She was radiantly beautiful in emerald-green and silver. He was so carefree, so joyful with her, as if no darkness had ever entered his life, or ever will.

Apart from Galadriel, no one seemed to notice the presence of Annatar.

She turned to look for Elrond and Celebrían but saw they were nowhere to be seen. The last stages of the feast was at hand, despite the absence of the High King and his new wife. Everyone was either too tired, or too drunk to notice anything.

This did not bode well.

Inside their chamber, Estela sat at the vanity, and started plucking out the hair-pins.

"Let me do that," Ereinion said gently, and she smiled, before she removed her hands, and felt him pulling the jewelled pins, one by one, and letting her mane tumble thickly down, the texture of honey, he noted. If honey were copper-coloured. It really did look like burnished copper, touched with spun gold and woven silver. He knew where the silver came from- her Telerin mother. Possibly even her tragic foremother. The gold, he suspected came from her uncle Tyelcormo.

But her hair was rich and soft, so silky and fragrant that he found himself lost in it. He took the brush and began to brush it in long, gentle strokes, easing her scalp, burdened by a long evening of jewels.

She smiled at him.

"Would you like to change?" He asked gently. She nodded. She smiled. She stood and he kissed her, pulling her close.

This felt not only natural, but wonderful and glorious at the same time. She pulled herself to the bathroom, but not before he pulled her close to him again. She smiled, and his eyes softened as he gazed first on her, then on the pendant he gave her.

"I feel as if we must not waste anything, that we make the most of our time." Ereinion smiled, but something clouded in his eyes.

Estela felt a chill. "What do you mean?"

"It means I don't want to lose you, now that I've found you," he said simply. But there was a hidden meaning. Something was coming. And he did not want to waste a single moment with her, neither did he intend to sit idly, and allow anything to happen again.

Estela knew he was right.

Just because she found happiness, the way she never expected to, did not mean all the problems in the world had disappeared.

And as the Queen consort of the High King, her fate was forever tied to those of Middle-Earth.

* * *

Celebrimbor guzzled wine yet again. He could hold his drink, even for an elf, but the wine was dulling his senses. Just as Annatar wanted.

_Soon the plan will be set, _Annatar thought. _I will fulfil what was intended…. And the House of Finwë and the Fëanorians most especially, will trouble me no more. Their interference is at an end. _

If Gil-Galad thought that in marrying Estela, there would be no troubles, he had absolutely no idea. This was a powerful match, although it was conceived in love. But it was only phase one of the plan. Putting all the eggs in one basket made things easier, even if there were a lot of eggs.

Soon the first phase of the plan would begin. Then Estela and the High King would be dealt with from within.

And after that, came the third phase before the final part of the plan.

_Númenor._

But first, they had to deal with the Fëanorians- as well as the whole House of Finwë. Only with them can they truly be defeated.

But without, all Middle-Earth, and eventually Arda, would be theirs for the taking, and Morgoth would be avenged.

But neither he nor anyone else, dark or light knew that fate, by the bidding of the All-Father, would have its say.

* * *

_**Thank **_**Merin Essi ar Quenteli**_**, for the elven wedding customs and the names! I know there was no official engagement ceremony shown, and we went forwards rather quickly all of a sudden, but I didn't want to drag this any longer than it has to, because everything has to move along! Anything really interesting or exciting will come in the next chapters. As Gandalf said in the Return of the King, "It's the deep breath before the plunge."**_


	32. Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Two

**_Hasn't been too long since the wedding, but some time has passed. Estela has been settling in pretty easily into her new role as a wife and queen, but she hasn't given everything up. What's more, there's a _BIG_ surprise at the end!_**

* * *

Ereinion smiled calmly as he beheld the number of councillors, advisors ministers and diplomats at the table.

Nearby, Estela stood silently, and her presence soothed him, certainly boosting his confidence and enthusiasm for this meeting, which without her, might have been lacking.

Estela was serene, but radiant. She wore deep green velvet with gold embroidery and lamé patterns, her hair in loose curls with few jewels woven within and a _mithril_ circlet with adamants and emeralds including one that rested in the middle of her forehead and made her eyes glow greener and richer than the gems. She wore the pendant he gave her, but with some emeralds on a silver necklace.

Ereinion marvelled at how she seemed equally at ease and so completely in place in a palace as well as a briefing tent or a battlefield. She took his breath away and seemed to shine in his eyes. She always would.

She raised an eyebrow and smiled slightly when she caught him looking at her.

"Everything seems calmer now, but there has been news that Tar-Palantir, King of Númenor, is ill." Someone reported. "Furthermore, the 'King's Men' as they were once called in the reign of his father, have been reported as causing trouble and unrest. A number of the population of Númenor are sick of the trouble they caused, seeking nothing more than peaceful relations, and most have moved to Middle-Earth. However, this means that the number of King's Men in Númenor are growing as compared to those that want peace and good relations with us, the dwarves and the rest of humanity. They could cause serious trouble for their king, as well as for us. If there is an uprising- a revolt of any kind, we can expect the worst. Thankfully, Tar-Palantir is not unreasonable, and respected while being liked by everyone save the King's Men. But his younger brother…" The advisor trailed off.

"Gimilkhâd," Estela said all of a sudden, and all eyes turned to her (although some were already secretly staring, unable to look away). "Younger son of Ar-Gimilzôr and Queen Inzilbêth. He's causing trouble for his brother. His son also causes trouble."

"Just so, my Queen," the advisor said grimly. He was a grey-eyed elf with silver hair and now looked stern. Calassion, she remembered his name.

"Tar-Palantir has strong supporters, but many are hating the atmosphere and the trouble caused by the King's Men and moving out of Númenor. Which is exactly what the King's Men want them to do. They want the whole kingdom for themselves. Meanwhile danger is brewing, looming on the horizon, and although Tar-Palantir now conducts the yearly pilgrimage to the sacred mountain of Meneltarma and tends the White Tree, although it has slightly bloomed and recovered from its ordeal from the time of his father, they say that it is ailing, and its end is imminent."

Estela was silent.

"And Tar-Palantir's daughter Míriel does what she can, and is loved for her fairness, gentle nature and kind heart, but the human warriors do not welcome a woman so easily into their ranks. There may be trouble if the worst comes to pass and she is made queen before they can gather the strength they need."

"If we interfere in Númenor's doings, that may save everyone and solve all the problems," a female councillor said.

"But that would hardly endear us to the Númenóreans," Estela remarked. "Not even the supporters of Tar-Palantir would welcome outside interference. On one hand, it could solve the problems and provide the aid our allies need, but on the other, we risk resentment directed further towards us than it already has. These 'King's Men' as they once called themselves, though not followers of their king, will look for any reason to put us in the line of fire. Even if it means framing us for invasion and needless conquest of a supposedly peaceful nation- they are not planning war, after all."

"But we cannot let this continue," Calassion exclaimed.

"No," Ereinion agreed. "We can't."

"No," Estela agreed. "But if we want to provide aid, we must be subtle and cautious. They will be anticipating every move and looking for a way to turn anything we do, into the wrong in the eyes of others. This is more dangerous than treading through the thin ice of the Helcaraxë."

Everyone grimaced, and Ereinion shook his head.

"It appears, for now, our Númenórean allies are on their own." He said. "Until we find a solution to this mess. I will await your _carefully-thought of_ suggestions tomorrow morning, and the council will deliberate as to the best decision in which to follow. In the meantime, there are the matters of the attacks occurring…" He proceeded to name the whereabouts and casualties of the attacks on which race, on which nation and which settlement and the recently-arrived news.

_Not the attacks again, _Estela thought. Eregion was reportedly peaceful as was Lindon, Imladris, Lothlórien and the Greenwood. But something was obviously wrong, as despite there being _some _peace, there was trouble, attacks, injuries, homes and possessions lost and deaths.

But nothing overly-serious.

Something hit her.

It was as if someone was planning something- whatever it was- very carefully.

As if something, or _someone_, was growing in strength.

Celebrimbor reported nothing wrong in Eregion- everyone was thriving, including his rapidly developing daughter. They sent warriors, and Estela had joined them, although her involvement was kept minimalized due to her husband's protests, then orders, but damage was still done. There were more refugees living in Lindon, Eregion, Imladris, the Greenwood and Lothlórien than they could imagine.

But her cousin had also written a proposal. Something about using jewels he would develop- many of which he already crafted had numerous magical properties, such as shields and many others- and making some in a higher level, but Estela disagreed. This was only an invitation to trouble. Furthermore, unspoken between her and anyone else, but surely something her cousin would know, was the fact that such innovations, would remind her too ominously much, hauntingly even, of her grandfather and his creations. Celebrimbor had inherited his skill. The _Palantiri-_ the Seeing Stones many of which went missing during the War of Wrath- and the Silmarils, most especially, were a cause of trouble.

She loathed the sight of Eärendil's star in the night sky. She knew what it really was, and the sight of it tore her heart to shreds, made tears rise to blind and choke her, and threatened to make her fall in loss and agony. She might have found happiness, but the past never erased itself.

She wished it had found destruction and death. She wished more death upon it than upon any foul creature. She wished that (although she certainly would have never admitted it to the twins, Elrond and Elros) that when Elwing jumped (even though she did not wish her dead) that the hateful, thrice-cursed thing they call a gem would have sunk to the waves with her, instead of being carried off to Eärendil's ship. She loathed it, hated it and grieved upon its image, more than anything in the world! Why could it not have found its well-deserved fate along with her father, mother, kinsmen and its own siblings?

Why was it still there? Why did it have to shine in the sky, still and torment her nightly with its passing?! It was cursed. Not one of Varda's blessed stars, under which the elves were woken, but cursed for it was the harbinger of death.

She choked and suffered every time she saw it, and she wish its glow would turn as ugly and hateful as the orcs of Morgoth's fortress.

Estela pulled herself out of this. Where was her cousin getting these ideas? All of a sudden, to believe that things crafted by an elf- even if they were weapons- could solve anyone's problems…

She shook her head. Such a thing would, and must never happen again.

She did not know what would happen, or how she would survive if it did. In fact, she was sure, she would not.

* * *

Annatar smiled as he beheld Celebrimbor's gift.

It was a gift worthy of Fëanor's making himself. Or of Aulë. After all, was not Mairon the Admirable a Maia of the Vala Smith before this?

The _mithril _hammer, was exquisitely-made and chiselled with engravings such delicacy. It was so polished it seemed to have been made out of starlight. He was after all, the Lord of Gifts.

And this, the first of any gifts, would pull Celebrimbor, Fëanor's own grandson into the trap he had set. Morgoth might have set a trap for Fëanor by one way, but Annatar learnt to smooth his way. He was cunning, the architect of many plans. Plans which Morgoth learned to respect, even fear.

The Fëanorians were invincible, but only on the outside. To destroy them, they had to be poisoned from within.

It was the only way. Morgoth was never completely willing to accept the fact, but the plain fact was, that they were the mightiest, the strongest and the most gifted of all the elves, if not all of the earthly races.

Celebrimbor was lending his ear to poisoned honey. And soon, he would give more than just his ear, but his silver hand.

But Estela was another problem entirely. And the fact that she was married to _Gil-Galad_, of all people, did _not_ help matters.

She had to have a weakness.

He just had to wait.

* * *

"How many dead?" Estela asked, dreading the tally.

Fëapoldon took a deep breath. "Nearly twenty-thousand, my lady."

She closed her eyes. Even though she succeeded, she felt like a failure. So many dead.

The dwarves were sobbing. This settlement- nothing more than a small peaceful town- to be subject to a brutal attack… Mothers hugged crying babies and small children to them, while grown dwarrows sobbed openly into their soot-stained hands.

Some of the children were openly screaming. Their elves took care of them, giving them milk flavoured with honey of they were old enough, warm blankets and even sweets, or treats and toys to soothe them and take their minds off the death they had seen. But it did not erase the damage. Estela held more than a few in her arms, singing them to sleep. She ordered food to be brought out and distributed, as well as blankets and fresh water.

Bedding, clean, warm and soft was brought out underneath hastily-erected shelters. They would have to rebuild the village, but with stronger defences, but to rebuild lives lost…

It was nearly an impossible task. She would know.

Estela laid out many of the small children to sleep, and made sure the surviving mothers had enough to eat and drink and to sleep. All the wounds sustained had been treated and the dead would be buried shortly. Their warriors would keep a strong guard.

"Estela," she heard a voice.

It was her cousin. Celebrimbor, in his armour, made his way to Estela, his sword sheathed.

She stood.

"Yes?"

He took a deep breath. "I've been meaning to talk to you," he said. "About the idea I proposed."

"I gave you my answer," his cousin responded. "And it was no, and it still is."

"Just listen," he said exasperatedly. He sounded desperate. "My experiments, are going well. If we increase the amount of energy, they could not only cause flora to grow and whatever needed to be found easily and aplenty, but borders could be protected, even more easily than with mere guards." He _was _desperate.

"No." Estela repeated. "Look at them," he implored. Estela gazed back at the weary, grief-stricken dwarves. "It is obvious that something is going on, and these attacks are connected. Do you want this to end? To stop their sufferings? To make them safe?"

"Of course I do," Estela snapped. Her patience, always plentiful, was not wearing thin.

"Then let us collaborate on this," Celebrimbor insisted. "Speak to your husband. I have, he agrees, and believes it might be for the best. Only your agreement is needed."

She was touched and thankful they thought of her so well.

"Listen to me, brother of my heart," she said quietly and slowly, stepping closer to him. "These _things_, will neither bring safety, nor slow down the destruction for _anyone_. If anything, they will only cause trouble- to speed and magnify any destruction that comes."

Celebrimbor stepped back.

"So that is your answer, sister of my heart?"

"Yes," Estela said firmly. "It is."

* * *

"I take it, that everything is not going well?" Annatar asked.

"No," Celebrimbor fumed. "It is not!" He paced up and down the hall of his home in Eregion.

Annatar watched, mildly amused, but also annoyed. Estela, it appeared, was the wisest of all the Fëanorians. She would put her grandmother to shame.

What an opponent.

Outside Eleniel played with her mother. Celebrimbor planned to join his wife and daughter soon, but for now…

His nerves were too grated. Could she not _see_ the obvious? He loved Estela, but Valar, she did try him!

"Well?" Annatar said. "Gil-Galad has given his permission. Everyone else thinks it's a good idea. And furthermore, why the elves first? They are the best-protected of all the races. "It's the Dwarves and most especially the Men, who are the most vulnerable. Morgoth, after all, targeted Men the most."

"You don't have to remind me," Celebrimbor grunted. He sank down on his throne. It wasn't comfortable, but it _was _something.

"The Dwarves and Men might be protected by you and your cousin, but officially, are they under the shelter of the elves?" Annatar asked. "No one in Lindon or Eregion has been attacked, and after the Greenwood incident, no elf has been harmed."

"_Yet."_ Celebrimbor responded.

"Yet." Annatar agreed. "But the Dwarves, your greatest friends and allies apart from your own people and the _Elendili_, are in greater danger than they had ever been in the War of Wrath. And the Men as well. It is clear that some people- or _someone_\- is targeting them because they are vulnerable. They have lost more than lives, they lack what they need to rebuild. Should we not give to them the strength, the ability, to provide for their own people and shield them from whatever harm there is? And your experiments have proven trustworthy and successful. Should not these people have some manner of protection over their lives?" Annatar pleaded. "It is a good idea. More than that, it may be their only hope, the only choice we have. For what other choice is there? How do they defend themselves? The greater authorities- Durin, the leader of the _Elendili_, are hard-pressed, and you said yourself, they themselves are desperate."

Celebrimbor was silent. "Look to them first," Annatar said. "They will need it, more than we do."

Celebrimbor finally spoke. "You are right, Lord of Gifts."

* * *

Estela sat on her vanity.

Her loom bore the finished work of yet another tapestry. But there were smaller looms, recently put away, which held fabrics of good quality- soft and fine, but sturdy and durable. These would be fashioned to shirts and tunics, trousers, and dresses of all sizes. They had already been dyed and embroidered. Now all they needed was to be cut and fitted to the shapes of the dwarves that had lost their homes. Coats and blankets were made as well.

Boots and other shoe-wear were crafted in Eregion. Estela had ordered more than enough for the dwarves of all ages, and for all seasons. Tools for smithing, so they could re-start their trades, farmlands that had been supplied with the ash, and other nutrients to make fertile, seeds and livestock, anything to rebuild their lives.

Durin, King of the Longbeards (not the first, but the third one) could not have been more grateful for the assistance to his people.

But even though a part of Estela wondered if her cousin was right, the majority sensed _she_ was right, and it sent an icy dread to imagine what would come next, if those jewels were suddenly made and distributed. The fights for one of them- for not all could be given. The assassination attempts. The thefts. The slaughter of countless innocents.

She would not go there again. She would not remember the painful past.

Especially now.

Her belly felt queasy as if the thoughts were affecting her very physicality. Estela sighed.

Ereinion walked into the room.

"The ceremony of burials will be conducted tomorrow." He said slowly and gently. He walked forwards to her, and touched her shoulders. She leaned back, smiling up at him. He smiled.

"I love you, my Estela." He whispered. "And it gives me pride as well as joy, to call you my own. Although I sometimes shudder inwardly at the thought of someone gazing covetously at you, the way I have seen some do."

"_That_ will never happen," Estela chuckled. "I'm married to you, my love. I chose you, and no one else."

"And I thank the All-Father, every single moment of our lives," Ereinion murmured as he leaned to kiss her.

Estela frowned. "Did you really think that my cousin's idea is a good one?"

Ereinion, who had walked over to the wardrobe, frowned. "Why not, then?"

She turned back to the mirror she faced. It was a great gilded thing, inlaid with polished gold in sections and carved with glyphs in Tengwar and mystical runes and images of birds and magical beasts. Ereinion sighed and moved towards her.

"I know the past is more agony than I can imagine," he said quietly. "And if I could, I would take each and every tiny part of it into me, so that you will suffer no more. But sometimes, the future of many can be helped, with something from the old, combined with the new."

Estela remained silent.

* * *

The burials of the dwarves would take place in rock. They would be entombed in stone, for from stone they came. As the laments were sung and speeches commemorating their lives, and calling for strength came and condolences were made, Estela said nothing, until she and Ereinion reached the Grey Havens.

The swan-ships stood anchored by the shore. The waters padded silently on the wharf and the shore. The sun was setting in the distance. Everything was so peaceful, so quiet and calm. She closed her eyes. The cool of the sea-breeze soothed her. A gull cried. The setting sun warmed her, but she did not want to see the path which she could never take.

She breathed the fresh air of the sea, tinged with salt from the sea-spray.

Her black cloak was wrapped around her, but she did not need the warmth. Ereinion came next to her and she took his hand.

For a while, they just stared, or felt with her eyes closed, at the sea.

Then Estela opened her eyes. There was something she had to tell him.

Something which would be their greatest hope. Fresh hope such as this, gave strength, and this would give more joy than anyone could possibly wish for. For it was something, she had never dared to hope for, something she believed would never happen. And although some lives would end in sorrow and mourning, others would begin in greatest joy.

"My love," she whispered, smiling. Ereinion turned towards her.

"I am with child."

Not too far away, lurking in the shadows, Annatar's eyes gleamed orange-gold like Angband's flames.

* * *

_**Aha! I bet you weren't expecting that!**_

_**But there is a big decision to make- should I end the story here, or keep going? Please let me know!**_


	33. Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Three

* * *

**_Warning: This is intense- nothing like chapter twenty-three, but more intense. This is the beginning of the events that lead up to the Lord of the Rings, and the Hobbit as well as Akallabêth and the Shadow of Mordor,_** _**although nothing will be destroyed just yet. **_

* * *

Annatar smiled.

If anyone, anyone had seen that smile, it would have frozen them to the core. Right to their very _fëa_. Not even the strongest could have withstood that.

For not even Morgoth, who had seen the smile a number of times, when presented with his greatest schemes, could have looked upon that smile without feeling cold, even frightened.

But ultimately, reminding himself it was for their triumph.

For this was no mere earthly being. This was no Maia sent by the Valar. This was an Umaia- one of Morgoth's servants. One of five.

The Old Woman, sent by the Valar, had been right.

Annatar had many names. He had been called Mairon, first of all, with the epithet 'the Admirable'. He had been called Gorthaur, by the Sindar meaning _'Terrible Dread'_. He had many names, but although they heard of him, few were had ever been so unfortunate, as to glimpse his face.

It was he who orchestrated the terrible, abominable plan on the children of Húrin Thalion, and forced their unfortunate father to watch. It was he who hid in secret when the Valar came to chain Morgoth once more, with the promise that never again would they allow him to be set free. And it was he who was the Lieutenant of Angband, and captured the father of the same queen who now carried Gil-Galad's child

And now Annatar- another name- was planning his most poisonous plan- a plan to destroy all hope within their one greatest resistance and fighters, as well as to conquer all of Middle-Earth.

A plan to set himself above even Morgoth.

He held up a finger and pricked it with a needle of iron.

Black blood, dark as the void, bloomed up on the cut, like a mockery of life. It spilled down on his finger until he turned it over and dripped it into the waiting container made of glass. It flooded the container, almost as fast as water, but nowhere as pure, and filled the bottle, swirling darker than ink with the promises of forbidden darkness and power.

He smiled.

Someone, hidden beneath a hood watched and waited.

"Whoever consumes this will be greater in power and might than the strongest of kings," he whispered as he beheld the black-coloured blood in the bottle. Mightier and more powerful than the Umaia four who served the Dark Lord. Stronger than the Maiar of the Seas. Train him, and there will be nothing he could not do, nowhere he cannot conquer, nothing he cannot destroy." He breathed, and his eyes were bright with the promise to come. "But it will burn out his elvenhood, as poison drains life from a person."

He gazed at the bottle for a long while then passed it to the hooded figure.

"You know what to do." He said. "And soon, with the rise of the Kingdom of Mordor, this will create the strongest lieutenant, the most powerful one I have.

"And soon the Dark Lord Morgoth would be merely an honoured memory."

The figure took the bottle in his gloved hands and bowed. "Yes, my Lord of Arda," he whispered.

It was a human voice.

* * *

Ereinion insisted on Estela sleeping early that night, and on having food delivered to her on a tray.

She rolled her eyes as she ate supper on a lap-tray in bed.

"You're treating me like an invalid," she reproached. She took a bite out of the roasted capon. The rich lamb stew in the bowl was warm, and there was poached egg, custard tart and tea.

Ereinion smiled. He sat down on the bed beside her. "I love you," he whispered. "And I fear that nothing lasts forever. Only my love for you. I only hope you will." His eyes were filled with worry.

Their hands touched. "I love you." She said. "There is nothing I wouldn't do for you," he whispered. "Nor for our child."

Estela smiled.

"It will be several months to go." She smiled. "Don't fear, my love. You know I will never leave you, not willingly. And our child will thrive and grow with you as a father."

His hand lingered over hers, and all was warm and silent between them. But always there was an undercurrent of dread. The feeling that there may not be that much time.

He kissed her and held onto her, until she laughed and playfully swatted him away. "I thought you wanted me to eat."

He laughed as well, but the door to their chambers knocked.

Ereinion's sharp eyes straightened. "Come in."

The attendant bowed. "My lord, my lady. There is a messenger with news from Lord Círdan- about Númenor."

Estela froze, and Ereinion turned back to her and frowned. "I will see them in the private audience chamber."

The attendant bowed his head and swiftly left the room.

Estela set down her spoon and frowned meaningfully at him.

Ereinion smiled. "It's bound to be nothing-"

"It never is."

"Just enjoy your meal, Estela and rest. I know you're not fragile like a human woman would be in her pregnancy, but if there is something I can tell you, I will tell it later."

She frowned but he kissed her and left.

Once he arrived he asked the messenger. "What is it?"

"Númenor!" The messenger gasped.

Ereinion kept his patience. "I am aware the news has something to do with Númenor."

"The King Tar-Palantir, is dead."

Shock resounded all throughout Ereinion.

"That cannot be," he hissed. He grabbed the elf by the shoulders. "Tell me this is a lie."

"This is true, my King!" The messenger cried. "Tar-Palantir has died in his sleep. His physicians say it was a painless end. He was weakening, my King, from his illness."

Ereinion released the messenger's shoulders in a shock. Shock hit him like a wave of icy water.

Tar-Palantir, their hope for a peaceful future, and reunion of alliances with Númenor, was dead.

"His daughter?" Ereinion found himself saying.

"Tar-Míriel is now Ruling Queen of Númenor."

_Tar-Míriel._ The maiden bore the name of Estela's foremother. He only hoped she would have the strength, courage and efficiency to not only face, but withstand and resist what would come next from the King's Men, unlike her namesake.

He realised the implications. If Númenor had not been a threat to Middle-Earth before, it surely was now.

Queen Inzilbêth and her mother Lindórië were long dead. As was her uncle Eärendur fifteenth Lord of the Andúnië, who died not long before the attack on the dwarvish settlement.

Tar-Palantir was apparently, next to go.

One by one, their list of allies and hopes for a peaceful friendship with Númenor once more, grew thin.

What now?

He made his way back to Estela's and his chambers.

Estela had by then finished eating, and smiled when he arrived. She was working on a small loom which she set aside.

"Love?" She asked. Her smile disappeared. "What is it?"

How could he tell her? How could he erase the pain, which she would sure have? She had suffered so much! And yet, if he didn't tell her himself…

Ereinion took a deep breath. "Tar-Palantir is dead."

Shock showed upon Estela's face as well as immediate denial, afterwards. "No," she whispered.

He winced. Taking her into his arms, she felt almost lifeless and numb as he gathered her into his embrace.

"He was ill, my love." He whispered, trying to soothe her sorrows. "He died in his sleep. We should be thankful. It was a painless end, according to all the physicians."

"_Inziladûn,"_ she whispered, calling him by his Adûnaic name. "_Númellótë_," she whispered the transliteration of the name.

Tar-Palantir.

He was gone, like all the others, the friends she held close to her heart. And her family. Only a few remained- the followers of hers who were elves, her cousin and his family, her husband and her unborn child.

The baby kicked. It was the first time her baby kicked. And she wondered what this meant, for it to signal its coming and its life at such a moment.

She wondered what his future would be.

* * *

She could sense he was a boy.

She did not tell anyone, wanting it to be a surprise.

She wept silently, but only for a while. Estela learnt long ago to crush her sorrow deep within the confines of her own heart.

But if she thought sorrows buried there could be reduced, if not forgotten, and eliminated, she was wrong. Of course she knew, after centuries of agony and grief that they would not disappear.

But she tried to supress them. It worked. For a time.

But she fell asleep.

Ereinion had given her a sleeping draft after she wept, and insisted she take it to sleep. He held her tight and she thought if it were not for him and his love…

But she swallowed the potion.

And she went to sleep.

And as she drifted off, she saw herself standing somewhere she had never been.

Somewhere where she was lucky never to go to.

It was dark, deep underground. It was deeper than any tunnel or mine the dwarves could construct.

It was so deep, and so hot, she felt lava, like the ones that consumed her father in his final moments, and she saw it.

A sight like she had never seen before or imagined.

The fire burning, the smoke, everything… those were just two of the things, she did not want to see anything else. She closed her eyes.

But soon she was forced to open them.

And instead of a chamber that held the hot blood of the earth, the molten fire, she saw something worse.

In a hall, filled with the light of hell, she saw elves fighting worthlessly against orcs, who were somehow stronger than they, forcing and strapping them to tables and using instruments of torture to put them to torment.

She heard their screams as the orcs held them down and tortured them. Screams of terror, of agony. Of panic and of despair and an overwhelming horror as they were changed. As their skin was burnt with torches, as their bones and joints were twisted and broken, as their fair forms were malformed, and their spirits changed if they hadn't already fled.

Of elves turning to orcs.

They were in Utumno, the Underworld. The hell of Melkor.

She heard screams of terror and agony and suddenly, without knowing, found herself pushed by some strange unseen force onto a table. The rocs crowded around her, their arms encircling like snares their eyes full of hate. They snarled, bearing bloodstained teeth as their malice-filled eyes looked determined and triumphant to do this one, awful task.

She fell onto the table, and held down by the same force that rooted her the day Finwë died, She saw the orcs around and above, her snarling, jeering, hissing, before they parted.

Someone was coming. Someone encased in black iron. With a helm covering his head. Someone holding something that looked like a cross between a torch and a knife. Someone coming towards her.

Before she could do anything such as bolt, the orcs leapt forwards and pulled her arms and legs down, forcing her to remain on the table. She watched with a growing horror and panic, a fear like nothing she had felt, mount up so high it was unbearable. Her eyes widened. She tried to scream, but she couldn't.

The figure approached with mounting footsteps that sounded like the _Grond_ of Morgoth. She could not move. She could not speak. She couldn't even scream.

The figure raised his weapon or instrument, and the orcs parted to give a clear view of her belly. He raised his weapon.

Somewhere, she heard a baby scream, its echoes bouncing in her mind.

Her baby.

* * *

Estela woke with a gasp.

She was cold and shaking all over.

"Are you alright?" Ereinion had bolted from his sleep.

She could not speak. She could not answer.

What manner of dream was this?

Ignoring her husband and running… where? She went to the bathroom, although elves were not ill, the way other races were when bearing their children.

She clutched on the edges of the basin and sagged, gasping for breath, trying to inhale cold, clean air. She looked up and saw herself in the mirror.

She could not retch and heave, but there was no doubt she felt sick- she was ill everywhere in her body, shaking and pale.

What manner of torment was this? Her baby? And Morgoth?

But Morgoth was gone. He would never be released now.

But the dream?

Elven mothers could sense the sex of their child before birth, and the development. She pressed her hand to her belly. He was developing normally. More than normally actually, healthily. But even more than that they could sense the future- not see it, or understand it in great detail, but they could sense what the child's fate would be.

Such fate was reflected in the _Amilessë_, or mother-name. Her own mother had named her Estela- 'Hope' in the Telerin dialect. But her grandmother Nerdanel had given one of her twins the name Umbarto, meaning 'the Fated'. Her grandfather had disliked this ominous-sounding name, and tried to change it to Ambarto, but Nerdanel had prophetically announced that one of them would indeed be fated, but only time would tell which one. And the very twin she had named Umbarto at first, proved to be the one who remained in the swan-ships in Losgar- the first Fëanáro had ordered to be set aflame. He was the first of her grandfather's sons to perish.

Such dreams could not be dismissed or taken lightly, not in such moments in time.

She shivered. But did she actually _see _the baby being cut out and taken out of her belly? She heard his cries. She did not know whether he cried from agony, loss or merely fear. She woke before anything could happen. She did not see her child being snatched by evil, she woke up before anything could happen.

Perhaps this would mean her child would escape the very worst of evil. She shivered. He might face it, but at least he would escape.

But it still made no sense- Morgoth was gone.

_Five slaves,_ the old lady said.

The words of the mysterious woman appeared again in her mind.

"_Trust not the one who brings gifts,"_ she seemed to hear her whisper at this very moment.

But the mystery of the Darkness was never solved. Nor the fire at Greenwood. Nor the attacks.

In reality, nothing had been solved at all.

Ereinion demanded to know what happened, but Estela felt that she could not tell him- how could she tell him?

In the morning she shook with ice-cold fear and dread. Ereinion made her drink a tonic. He believed it was the shock of the news of the previous night, combined with the fragility (for an elf) of her condition.

The tonic was delivered by a servant. She frowned. This was a human.

Estela's eyebrows rose as she beheld the young man with the tonic on a silver tray. It was in a dark blue glass bottle with a rectangular belly and a long, wide cylindrical neck, closed by a large cork. She looked at it suspiciously.

"The High King requests that you drink this tonic," the young man said.

She sighed. "Tell me, are you one of the Faithful forced to flee from Numenor, or among the ones who chose to leave?"

"Yes my lady." The man bowed his head. "The last king, Ar-Gimilzôr forced my family to leave, or be punished for treason. We arrived in Middle-Earth with the Lord Eärendur." He smiled. "And you rescued us."

"Huh," was all Estela said. "And what do you think of the events that transpired in Númenor?"

The youth was silent.

"I believe," he said quietly. "That this has only just begun."

_Well, as if that wasn't obvious enough, _Estela thought. She uncorked the bottle and the smell of herbs, mixed with something else- something bitter, probably, but healthy, and drank the tonic.

She placed the bottle back on the tray.

"Thank you…" She trailed off.

"Belzagar, my lady," he responded. "Belzagar." She nodded. She inwardly frowned. Wasn't that a name of a king of Númenor? The one who first started to use the Adûnaic names?

The youth Belzagar bowed and left the room.

Perhaps they were forced to use a name that would please the King's Men.

* * *

Belzagar met with Annatar in a secret place.

"Did she drink it?" Annatar asked.

"Yes, my lord." Belzagar bowed. He frowned. "But my lord that will not change her."

"Fool," Annatar responded. "It will change her infant. And I'm sure the sleeping draft Gil-Galad unwittingly gave her did as well. She needs to continuously take it throughout her pregnancy. Not unusual, of course, for an elf to consume tonics and medicines during the period of carrying a child. And as your status as a servant in the court will allow, you have gained enough trust to be feeding the queen and unborn royal heir as you have left in the dark of the night with Eärendur and his sister. Soon, I must leave for Eregion. Gil-Galad suspects something. Estela too. Only Celebrimbor has his eyes closed and his ears open. And soon our agreement will be underway and I will deliver my gifts while Celebrimbor makes them, smoothing his way into my cobweb."

He left.

* * *

Celebrimbor met with Annatar in his home.

"What do you say?" Annatar asked. "Only you have the power to change things."

And with the news from Númenor, of course, the threat of danger loomed more ominously than ever.

Celebrimbor's eyes were so blue. They held the stars, Annatar saw. The eight-pointed stars seen in his grandfather's banner and eyes.

"I say, let it be done." And Annatar and Celebrimbor, son of Curufinwë, son of Fëanáro, clasped forearms and the agreement was made.

Estela woke up from another nightmare. She was suffering these dreams.

Shaking, she got out of bed. Ereinion insisted she rest.

She saw orcs, armies, and an ash-covered land of waste riddled with fumes.

She saw a mountain- a volcano, with lava jumping from the top.

She saw several rings with gems encircling her, before merging into one- a perfect single gold piece, with no gem, but with engravings in Tengwar red as flame in the gold, that rose and fell to darkness.

She saw armies laying waste to cities and the screams of women, the terrified howling of children, the snarls and growls of triumphant orcs and the death-cries of men. She saw a cloaked figure, raising his sword in the air in triumph, but she could not see his face- his back was turned.

She heard the cries and coos of her baby.

* * *

The heat of the liquid metal rose as Celebrimbor poured the molten metal onto the mould. Heat rose higher, but cooled quickly as the liquid ran through to the moulds before congealing, to be perfectly cast into shape. The gold gleamed still hot and wet and Annatar beheld this scene, and his eyes glowed orange-gold as lava.

Seven Rings.

Ereinion irritably listened to news in the court.

Estela was absent, everyone understood. But it did not soothe him, the lack of her presence. Neither did the news.

The self-styled Ar-Pharazôn, son of Gimilkhâd, son of Ar-Gimilzôr, was gathering a massive force. His cousin, the newly-crowned Queen Tar-Míriel was outnumbered. In fact the army refused to fight for a woman. She then had no choice but to plead with most of her followers to flee. They were marching onto Armenelos.

He had discussed this with Estela. "These prejudices will be their undoing as well as ours," he said.

His wife responded. "It is merely an excuse to seize power- the supposed weakness of women, is nothing compared to the fear of these men who wish to return to the old ways, and do not enjoy being told by a woman what to do."

She was right.

And by now it was too late to send aid, and they could not convince Tar-Míriel to flee.

He cursed this. Estela had advised to send aid, but later when the situation of Tar-Palantir's death spelt danger, but now it was too late. She noted earlier, after all, that it would not be appreciated. She was torn between both. Now they were truly in trouble.

* * *

Annatar arrived after visiting the dwarves just as the news arrived. Ar-Pharazôn, as he called himself, this self-styled king of Númenor, and his men had arrived in Armenelos, the Númenórean capital.

He was holding his cousin hostage in her own palace.

And Annatar, whose dark heart was secretly pleased, smiled beneath his hood.

Estela dreamt of fire and ash, of lava and barren rock and fumes. She dreamt of armies like the sea, sweeping downwards and torching entire cities aflame.

She dreamt of hooded figures riding on giant winged beasts.

She dreamt of flame engulfing the screams and cries of burning innocents.

She saw armies of orcs and evil men commanded by a dark commander, cloaked- the same one she saw in previous dreams.

She saw the armies swallowing everything good and wonderful in their path.

She saw a sea of dead bodies.

All she saw was death.

* * *

The hammer gave a delicate clang, more like a ringing bell, as he hammered it down onto the awaiting ring.

Usually they required more delicacy these things, but the rings he was making was different.

Soon they were all finished. Seven for the dwarf-lords and nine.

_Nine for mortals doomed to die,_ Celebrimbor said. Annatar smiled as he took one and beheld the quality of the gold, its shape and luster, as well as the rich brilliance of the gem.

His eyes glowed like volcanic lava.

"Only you can be accomplish such art, Celebrimbor."

* * *

"What does the son of Gimilkhâd, late prince of Númenor want?"

Ereinion sat on his throne in the public audience chamber.

Everyone looked uneasily at one another. Elrond looked grim. His wife tried not to fidget nervously.

"The throne obviously, but how does he mean to achieve this? By killing his own cousin?"

"No, my king." A councillor by the name of Cánon replied. "He holds her there and the army surrounds the palace. The navy's ships block all ports and surrounds the island, intercepting those who flee. No one is allowed out of Armenelos."

"But he keeps her alive?" Ereinion raised an eyebrow. "He cannot take the throne as she is on it. The only way to remove her is either to force her to abdicate, or kill her. But based on what you tell me, she has refused to do so. That means he must kill her."

Cánon shook his head. "He will not, my King." "Then how does he intend to take the throne? By forcing her to witness her people suffering?"

Cánon nodded. "Yes, my King. But not to abdicate."

"What will happen if he kills her?" Ereinion asked.

Elrond frowned. "The people, no matter how firm they are in his beliefs, will never accept him as a ruler-someone who murders his own cousin in cold blood- the throne will be denied to him forever. Lands can be won through conquest in the eyes of Men. But crowns? Never. All Kings and Queens of Númenor understand and agree on that. If he wants his grip on the throne to be legitimate, then he cannot kill her. "

"But no one has ever attempted an overthrow such as this, before." Ereinion scowled. Elrond grimaced.

"No, my King, they have not."

* * *

Estela dreamt of ash. Ash and smoke and fire rising from the depths, she dreamt of armies of orcs forming in hate, bursting out of the mud of the earth.

She saw those armies sweeping like a flood wreaking death and destruction, forcing fathers and husbands to watch their loved ones die, before the sword turned to them, held by a cloaked figure.

And she heard the words,

_Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatulûk, agh burzum-ishi krimpatul. _

And the hooded, cloaked figure turned, but she only saw his eyes within the shadow of his hood. His eyes burned black at first, but then glowed like molten lava, fresh from the earth.

She saw the armies over his shoulder sweeping throughout the hills and valleys of Middle-Earth, like a dark flood, threatening all of Middle-Earth, if not Arda, as the flames rose higher and higher, and the glint of a gold ring was glimpsed amidst the orange-gold of his eyes and the pupils, black as the void.

* * *

Estela gave a scream and woke.

She was certain she felt the flood upon her. She had felt it- it turned to dark water and touched her.

It was a dream, but she felt wet…

She looked down. She _was _wet alright, water stained the sheets.

She saw it and her eyes widened.

Several attendants ran in when she screamed and saw her flip back the covers. They ran back out immediately.

Ereinion came in, fast as he could, still in formal wear. He grabbed Estela's arm, and placed his arm on her back, helping her up.

This was not supposed to be like this, no elven labour was. Not even Fëanáro, he grandfather, arrived into the world in such a moment.

But even though the pains were mild and bearable compared to the pains of labouring females of other races, Estela knew- she _felt _something was not right.

Ereinion helped her up, and whispered, "Calm down, it's going to be alright. The pain won't be so bad." He kissed her cheek.

But something was definitely _not _right.

She looked down and saw, staining the carpet, and the white nightgown, running down her legs, was blood, black as pitch.

She screamed.

* * *

_**Yes, I know, I took inspiration from a series (not naming it if you don't know!) which has angels and demons, as Tolkien was also a devout Catholic and did not deter from his belief that there was one God- and many angels or Ainur. He also took inspiration from Norse mythology as well, but there isn't much here. If you do sense what's going to happen, don't tell anybody! Celebrimbor has yet to discover Annatar's real motives and Estela has yet to understand what was going on.**_


	34. Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Four

The pain was like nothing she had imagined- not pain exactly, not numbness, and certainly not pleasure- and yet much worse than she imagined, and knew it should be.

The blood ran and dripped down her legs to the carpet below, and she screamed.

Ereinion saw the blood and his eyes widened. "Send a message to Lord Elrond- immediately!" The attendant ran out.

"Artanis," Estela gasped, sagging and clutching his sleeve with one hand and her belly with the other. Her eyes rose to meet his, and he never saw fear in her eyes as there was now. "I need… Artanis."

Galadriel. Yes, he sent a message to her too.

This would not be a natural birth.

Estela screamed.

This was early, too early. Since when were elven children born so early in the gestation period? And she was in a lot of pain.

The healers, and Estela herself, had assured him the child was developing normally. But lately, Estela's dreams and lack of peaceful sleep prompted him to worry.

She clutched at the wall.

Everything seemed to blur before her eyes. The pain was pain, but it wasn't exactly. She could not describe it. It felt… it felt…

It felt like the darkness deep in the heart of the stone fortress.

The Darkness that tormented her.

The Darkness she felt would come again.

* * *

Estela lay in a twilight world.

She could not understand anything that was going on. Her eyes opened and closed.

She saw elves coming in and out of the room, bringing things like towels and pitchers of water, but could not see their faces. Darkness covered her eyes before she managed to open them and saw the elves hand them to others whom she could not see.

She was Elrond chanting something above her. It was a mix of something… Valarin? Quenya? She did not know.

Again everything went black.

She remembered a hard pressing in her belly and feeling as if something was being sucked out of her.

She felt as if the darkness was physically consuming her once more, only this time, it was _inside_ her. Already inside her. She wanted to scream, to get it out. She would much rather have it out there, rather inside her, impersonal and powerful as it already was. And what about her baby?!

She wanted to scream.

Her baby was inside! Her baby with the Darkness! Her precious, innocent son, his precious, innocent life about to be snuffed out and threatened by the dark crowding around them, coming into them. She wanted to claw her belly to tear or rip him out, anything to get him to safety where he belonged.

Her eyes opened again (Were they closed?) and she saw elves bending down at the foot of her bed (Was she lying down?), pressing towels, mopping up the dark blood coming out, while another poured a pitcher full of hot steaming water, into a basin. She heard Ereinion make a sharp retort, or a shout at someone. She felt Artanis nearby, but was too weary to look for her.

She felt her husband grip her. She wanted to scream. She wanted to tell these fools to take a knife or a dagger and cut the baby out of her before the Darkness took him.

But somewhere, deep down, she knew it was already too late.

It was inside, encircling her, torturous, gripping, draining both lifeblood and _fëar_. Both hers and her precious child's.

She was being consumed from the inside out- they both were, by the darkness which was like a ravenous beast.

She had never felt such despair- not even when she heard her mother was dead, not even when she heard of her father's death and her uncle's disappearance.

It was choking him, it was going to him, it was inside him, her baby.

The Darkness rose, threatening to tear everything apart.

Black blood ran down her legs.

Estela gave one last scream before falling unconscious.

* * *

Ereinion had yelled himself senseless in his fear, panic and helplessness.

Elrond had his hands spread wide and was chanting in a mix of Old Valarin and Quenya.

Galadriel brushed her goddaughter's gold-and-silver-tinged copper locks from her face, which was unnervingly pale.

She had chanted inside her mind, heart and _fëa_, and used all the power Melian had taught her. Now as her cool hand gently stroked Estela's forehead, hair and neck, she bent down.

Ereinion choking, supressing his tears of fear and panic, saw Galadriel whisper something in Estela's ear.

Silence. It took a long while, but suddenly the Queen's eyes opened. The flash of green was preceded by something that looked like dark blue with a silver star in each orb. Before Estela gripped the edge of the bed with one hand and Galadriel's hand with the other and pushed, screaming.

Suddenly with a rush of blood, black as the Darkness came the baby.

There was a howl, and Ereinion marvelled with shock that it was a new voice- a new voice had entered into this world, made by him and Estela- and was a part of them both.

A new being.

Everyone laughed with relief, save for Galadriel whose face was troubled and Elrond whose eyes snapped open but whose face remained unchanging in its grimness.

Something was wrong.

The attendants laughed with relief as they cleaned the baby in warmed water, cut the cord and wrapped it in towels before clouting and swaddling it.

They passed the baby to Ereinion.

"A boy," One of them breathed. "Strong and healthy. Nothing wrong at all."

At least that was what they wanted to believe.

Ereinion gingerly took the child, worried that he might drop it- _him_. It was his son- _his_ son.

A son.

Tears threatened to well in his eyes again, but only this time, it was not out of fear, but an indescribable feeling, so powerful and in such quantities, nothing can describe it, unless one has been there in actuality, in the very same position.

It was the most amazing, most wonderful, most miraculous feeling.

They towelled off Estela as well and gave her a long drink of cold juice to restore the fluids she had lost. They also gave her a tonic that would restore her lost blood, but for some reason, Estela knew it was _not _her blood.

The same feeling of awe, amazement and joy was present in her, but it would have to wait. The afterbirth came, after which Artanis helped her to the bathroom.

She came back, clean- hair and skin scrubbed and washed with scented soaps and fragrant oils, and tightly bandaged in case of further bleeding.

This was not a normal birth, everyone knew that much. Not normal at all.

An elf would not experience this much pain- as for that much blood-loss, if any… The need for a healer to be present or a midwife was very minimal.

Estela's hair was combed and braided- Celebrían did that, while tea was poured for her, but all she wanted was her baby- to find out if he was alright.

Galadriel's face was deadened and emotionless, and Elrond's was guarded.

The baby was handed to his mother, wrapped in soft cloth, and above, a tuft of liquid-black hair was visible. She chuckled wearily. It was adorable. His face and features were so delicate and _tiny_.

One fist with tiny, delicate curling fingers peeped out of the blanket's folds. The fingers curled and she marvelled at it, touching the skin. It was soft and smooth and sent a jolt of pure joy, awe and love through her along with _something_ else.

She felt her husband come up beside her and wrap them both in his arms. Tears welled in her eyes, and the joy and love and awe was overwhelming.

A pity it didn't last forever.

Ereinion kissed her and she felt him tremble with emotion. They were together, they were safe. And they were a family.

Neither would never be alone.

They celebrated too soon. Celebrían gasped and Ereinion recoiled, catching himself in his alarm.

Elrond too looked alarmed and troubled, and Galadriel closed her eyes when she heard them react, without even seeing for herself.

As for Estela- she nearly dropped the child.

She managed not to scream, but that was because she couldn't find her voice.

The child's eyes glowed orange-gold like molten lava. And his pupils were as black as the void.

* * *

Celebrimbor gasped in relief as he read the letter. Apparently his cousin had given birth- earlier than normal, but both mother and child were in excellent health. The infant was a boy. And the mother wanted to see her cousin.

Beaming he saddled his horse and rode for Lindon.

When he got to the palace, everyone was buzzing.

There were whispers and words spoken in excitement. Everyone was looking over their shoulders and whispering excitedly to anyone that just arrived. But they all stared and parted for him, many gazing longingly at his back as if eager to secretly follow and find out.

He strode into the residence wing, and the quarters of his cousin, and the High King.

On the way, Celebrimbor glimpsed a human walking through the corridors, shoulders hunched. He stopped and started. What was a human doing here? He could be one of the Faithful, and by the looks of it, he was a servant, but apart from him there was no one else around.

He then realised that everything was eerily silent. Ominous even

Warily, he walked towards the door to their suite of rooms and knocked.

"Who is it?" Galadriel's voice was sharp.

"It is I, Celebrimbor."

The door opened and Galadriel nodded to him, her eyes sharp as her voice. "Come quickly."

She closed the door immediately after he entered. Celebrimbor looked at her bewildered and opened his mouth before Galadriel shook her head.

She walked off, back into the bedroom, Elrond appeared behind her.

A glance between the two, told him something was not right.

Elrond approached. "Come," he gestured. Even warier than ever, Celebrimbor slowly and carefully made his way to the bedroom.

He heard the coos of a baby and saw Estela in bed, holding a swaddled bundle in her arms. Ereinion stood next to them, facing the wall.

His cousin had tears in her eyes.

She looked up when she saw his arrival, and he was shocked at the sight of her.

She looked beautiful, as always, but so pale and drained, and there were shadows and hollows in her beautiful face that should not be there.

Her lovely eyes were wet as he slowly approached.

"Estela?" He smiled. "You have a son," he remarked gently as he looked down at the bundle.

Estela's eyes were blank as she looked down, not really seeing the baby in her arms. The smile was wiped off his face.

She was silent.

"Valar," Celebrimbor breathed. "What is it? What's wrong? You have a child, Estela- and they tell me he's healthy!"

Her beauty looked ghostly and translucent as she looked up again, not seeing him, but moved to place the baby in the crib. He blinked in alarm.

The cradle was lacquered ebony, intricately carved and inlaid with flecks of gold, mother of pearl and diamond in patterns that cast rainbows in the light. The silk sheets glittered with lamé and although it was fit for a High Prince, he wondered that despite being appropriate from display, whether it was practical. In fact, the celebratory, ornately-lavish thing appeared out of place in such a somber atmosphere.

But this was ridiculous! The mood was the only thing out of place!

"Estela," Celebrimbor said firmly. "What is wrong?"

Silence again. Ereinion turned to look at him and his eyes were filled with unspeakable rage and anguish.

"Valar almighty!" Celebrimbor cursed. "What is it?" He was losing patience.

"Do you really want to know?" His cousin's voice sounded hollow and dull, as if from a distance.

He frowned. "What is wrong?" He asked quietly. "Why have you not announced the birth of a High Prince to those outside? By the looks of it, it's been some time now."

Estela gestured for him to come closer.

Frowning, Celebrimbor leaned forwards. He bent over the swaddled form.

Her dainty hand gently pulled back the blanket covering the baby's face.

The baby's eyes were wide open.

Celebrimbor could not stop the gasp from sounding.

The infant's eyes glowed like magma, still in the earth, but his eyes in contrast, was black as the lifeless void.

This was no elf-eyes.

These were the eyes of Morgoth's demon.

* * *

"My Lord," Belzagar, the human arrived. "The child has been born."

Annatar felt his lips twitch into a smile. "It has begun."

Estela's weakness was that she could never really be rid of her love for her family. And now, the queen and the remaining Fëanorians had been poisoned from the inside out.

Well, maybe not the last yet.

But Annatar had given the rings to the Dwarves and soon would begin distributing them to the Men.

Only Annatar knew of the true extent of the threat the Fëanorians faced. It was he who advised Morgoth to place a stronger guard on Nelyafinwë Fëanorion on the Thangorodrim.

They were a threat- and they would remain a threat.

But no more. All he had to do, was ensure the plan went smoothly. Estela did not suspect him- she knew not in the least what happened to her son. And Celebrimbor had finished sixteen rings already. The dwarves had theirs, and Annatar himself came and delivered some to human kings. Some were Dunlendings, Easterlings and there were even Númenóreans- those that agreed with the King's Men.

Annatar smiled. Yes, all was going according to plan. In fact, the plan was doing exceedingly well. At this point there was no one to stop him.

* * *

"How?" Celebrimbor's voice was hoarse.

"Does it look like anybody knows?" Ereinion's voice was heavy yet strained.

Celebrimbor was unable to speak. This… this…

This was no child. This was an abomination- a curse brought once more upon their House.

Estela moved her head slowly, as if waking from a slumber. Her hair was unusually lank and hung in cloudy strands of dusty copper around her face and a mass about her shoulders. A tear seeped out of her eye, as she stared otherwise expressionlessly at the wall.

"I have felt the child's _fëa_." Galadriel intoned. "He is not an elf."

"Not an elf?" Ereinion spoke as if he too were rousing himself from a deep slumber, and his voice increased in volume.

"Why is my son, _not an elf_, Lady of Light?"

Galadriel looked grave. "The child's _fëa_ is stifled- if there is any semblance of an elven spirit within him. There is something- a darkness grows within him, it has flourished within him until it has gained strength and soon it will grow."

Estela gave out a strangled cry. Her son did not even stir in her arms.

"There is something more," Elrond warned. "This child- his physical form appears to be more than an elf's. Far more. Less than twelve months within the womb, and already he looks as if he has emerged within the right time."

That was true. This boy-child was the size of a baby born and carried to full term.

And his features were more developed than even a new-born infant. Elven children were not born red-faced or purple and wrinkled like the children of other races, with irregular and contorted features, but their features and skin were clear.

But even they did not have features as defined as this boy's. The infant had clear skin, pale actually. Very pale, but a seemingly dark pallor, the colour and texture of creamy satin or milky porcelain. But it was very translucent and it did look dark. It was so smooth and it looked polished. He had the hint of a handsome face with chiselled features like those of his foremother's sculptures. Celebrimbor saw many of his relations in his features. His father and uncles. He saw his grandfather, but only after the time when Morgoth came to him. His black hair gleamed like polished onyx or spilled ink and it matched his downy eyelashes. He saw Gil-Galad, obviously, and Estela, but there was something else there. Something familiar.

"He's strong," Elrond said. "Strong and healthy even for an elf. His muscle and bone structure appear to be… reinforced. It seemed unusually strong."

Celebrimbor turned to him, puzzled. "What else have you noted?"

"He does not cry as much as an infant normally does," Elrond said. "We fed him with a bottle- he has teeth."

"Teeth?" Celebrimbor was astounded. Few babies were born with teeth.

"Two at the top and two at the bottom," Elrond responded.

Estela placed the baby in the cradle. He was asleep.

Her eyes never once left the baby moist and mournful as she gently rocked the cradle.

Her little child. Her sweet boy.

Her son.

She wept silently as she rocked the cradle.

She did not care. She could not, no matter what others said. He was her soul and heart, just like his father. Her very being's lifeblood- the reason for her existence.

But she remembered what had passed in her dreams and she could not deny that this was far from good.

"The darkness inside his _fëa_ has affected his _hröa_." Galadriel announced. "The darkness grows stronger with each passing minute, and has already taken root within.

"What has happened to him?" Celebrimbor choked out. Ereinion glanced up, his face ashen, eyes hollow and his hair clouds of hanging dust.

"We do not know," Elrond murmured. "But rest assured, we _will_ find out."

Celebrimbor shook his head, and thought they needed to summon a servant for sleeping drafts for the parents, but then he froze.

"The servant." He murmured as if from a distance.

"Who?" He wasn't sure who spoke.

"The servant I saw in the corridors- the human one? Who is he?"

Estela looked up, numb, but incredulous somehow. "Belzagar, he said his name was. A Númenórean- one of the Faithful."

"Are you sure?" And the sudden harshness of Celebrimbor's voice made them look to him in alarm.

Estela blinked and stirred. "He said-"

"I don't care what he said. His name enough spells death. The name of the Númenórean king who first openly scorned and wished death upon our race."

"Names themselves means nothing," Estela shook her head vehemently. "Names have power," Celebrimbor's eyes suddenly showed the star of Fëanáro son of Finwë and the irises turned dark blue. "They might have named him to divert suspicion at first by the King's Men." Estela said. "Inzilbêth is an Adûnaic name."

"True," Celebrimbor said quietly. But it does not explain why you depend on him more than your other servants."

Ereinion looked bewildered. "What?"

"I saw him leaving your chambers when there was no other attendant around," Celebrimbor said slowly.

Everyone started. "I did not summon him," Ereinion hissed.

"No, I do not believe you did," Galadriel said quietly.

Estela stood, without any sign that before she had been in agony. She ran, tearing across the room and out the door, ignoring Ereinion's shout to wait and his attempt to grab her arm.

Somehow she knew. She knew.

The eyes, oh the eyes. They were not elf. They were not human.

They were not natural.

They were Annatar's- the Umaia.

Of this now, she was certain.

She finally cornered him- in full view of other servants and grabbed him by the throat, screeching death and with murder in her eyes.

She looked so terrifying some of the maids even screamed.

She grabbed him and slammed him against the wall, her arm against his throat and chest.

"What did you do?" She screamed. She was blinded with the fury and rage of a mother-wolf.

"_What did you do to my baby?" _

Everyone gasped. Ereinion, Elrond and Artanis found her.

"You wretch!" She howled. She pulled him off and slammed him harder against another wall, with a force enough to break bones. He groaned and the servants gasped.

"Estela," Ereinion barked.

"You," Estela hissed with so much loathing she could not comprehend or bother to measure it. "You worked for him, didn't you? For Annatar. You were never one of the Faithful."

Belzagar choked. "Admit it wretch!" She screamed. Her hand found his throat and began to squeeze, not enough to kill but certainly enough to be unbearable.

"Estela," Ereinion walked forwards and backhanded the human. Belzagar gasped.

She loosened her grasp. "So tell me, wretch. What did you do? What did you do to my baby, tell me or you will face worse than death."

Belzagar sneered. "I do not fear death. My master is worse than you."

Estela slapped him. Blood poured out of his nostrils as she struck him somewhere fragile. "I said _worse _than death. Do not try me, wretch, for I am capable of that and more."

Suddenly she reached out with her mind and forced herself into his. He experienced visions like nothing he imagined. And suddenly she learned the truth.

She screamed and struck him again. Blood poured more copiously than before as he fell to the ground.

"You-" she did not even finish before she felled blow upon blow, upon blow onto him, and would have killed him herself had Artanis and Ereinion not grabbed her.

"What?" Ereinion demanded. His eyes were like blue fire. "What did he do?"

Estela took a shaking breath, and shaking herself, began to tell.

* * *

Celebrimbor rode back to Eregion. This was wrong, this was all so wrong.

No announcement regarding the birth of a High Prince was made. No celebrations, no congratulations- nothing.

He entered his forge, feeling the need to find some comfort in something familiar- and to rain blows down on something.

But as he hammered something happened.

A vision made him pause and engulfed his mind's eye.

_He saw a figure, clad in iron armour with a helm and a spiked crown rising in terrible spires upwards. The figure stood upon a cliff overlooking a sea of lava, rising his fist up to challenge all, the glint of a gold ring upon his finger._

_A Ring of Power._

"We are betrayed." Galadriel's somber voice resounded within his mind. "Its power blazes like a beacon, and will bring ruin to _all_ Middle-Earth."

Startled he gasped, glancing at her, suddenly finding more visions as he looked upon her sudden presence in Eregion.

"_No," _he gasped and whispered at the same time. "It cannot be."

Estela ran out of the palace. She even rode a horse out of the capital- all the way to Eregion.

"_What have you done_?!" She wailed as she burst through the hallways of Celebrimbor's home.

Little Eleniel clutched her mother's gown in fear, and Silmiel herself gasped at the sight of Estela, Noldorin Queen, charging through the doors, uncharacteristic of what she had always been around both of them. She burst in, just as Galadriel was talking to a white-faced Celebrimbor.

"Estela," Galadriel warned.

"You made those… those ABOMINATIONS in the eyes of all beings?" Estela screamed. "WHY?!"

They stared at her. But as Galadriel moved forwards to try and calm her, but it was to no avail.

After managing to get them into a separate room, Estela continued to…well, anyone would know, and they did not have to hear it either- it was no use, going into another room, after all. At least no one had to see what was happening.

"- HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU'VE DONE?!" Elrond- who had appeared later than Estela, could have sworn that her voice shook the whole place.

"_WHY?! _HOW COULD YOU- GRANDSON OF FEANARO- HOW COULD YOU HAVE DONE IT? WHHHHYYYYY!

"YOU OF ALL PEOPLE- HOW AND WHY?!"

Everyone- even those not near the room, cringed. No one-_ no one_\- had ever seen Estela in such a mood. She did not inherit her grandfather's temper, and her uncles'.

She inherited the best qualities, Elrond thought. A pity, then. He always assumed she took after Nerdanel in temperament. Elrond himself had never met Nerdanel the Wise, wife of Fëanor, but he had heard- and read- things about her.

He inwardly groaned. How long was this going to take?

Ereinion arrived not long after. Elrond found it best to explain to him everything- including the fact that Celebrimbor had been deceived- they all did. Galadriel spoke so as well.

But bells were ringing in an all-too-familiar ring for Estela. She had seen it happen- she saw it all before.

Galadriel knew. She took her mind back, centuries before.

The Silmarils. The unchaining of Melkor. The slaying of Finwë. Fëanáro's madness. His speech in the square. The Oath.

And now, it was happening again.

Such a thing should never be repeated, especially with Estela, but history repeats itself.

A pity then, she was immortal.

It was all so unjust, but what good did it do, to dwell on such things?

Galadriel sighed and rose.

She went towards the door.

She found both cousins in an unbelievable un-describable state. So bad she would rather not see it, much less mention it.

Estela emerged, and her face was paler than usual, but with flushed cheeks. Her eyes were wild.

Elrond supressed a wince. Something was definitely _not _right.

"Estela," Elrond said. He groaned. "I take it the Rings of Power have been made?"

Her eyes widened. "You know?"

Everyone knew," Elrond said.

"Save me," she was about to turn a glare towards her cousin, before Galadriel came forwards, followed by Ereinion.

"Estela," Galadriel began, and Ereinion took her in his arms. "Estela, love, do not do this. We were all deceived, my love."

She sunk to the floor, all firepower vanquished. She looked diminished.

Ereinion went and gathered her in his arms once more, pulling her up and close to him.

"How many rings did Annatar request?" Ereinion asked.

Celebrimbor swallowed. "Sixteen, my King."

"Sixteen?" Elrond looked alarmed.

"Seven for the dwarves and nine for human kings."

"Seven for the dwarf-lords in their halls of stone, and nine for mortal men doomed to die." Estela whispered bitterly.

Galadriel felt a chill sweep over her when she said those words.

'_Seven for the dwarf-lords in their halls of stone. Nine for mortal men doomed to die.' _Where did those words come from, and what power did they have?

"And soon… one. One more. One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne."

Everyone turned and gasped. "One ring to rule them all," Estela intoned solemnly. "One ring to find them. One ring to bring them all, and in the Darkness, bind them."

Such words had so much power, and knowledge. But where did they come from?

"That's what those words mean," Estela said softly. "What words? What are you talking about, love?" Ereinion looked alarmed.

Estela pulled back, and her eyes were dark and full of icy knowledge as she intoned words from a tongue which no elf had ever heard before.

"_Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul, Ash nazg thrakatulûk, agh burzum-ishi krimpatul." _

Everyone gasped, and Galadriel had to stop herself from falling backwards. Not even the Lady of Light, could ever dream of such harsh and dark words coming from the mouth of so fair a queen as Estela.

"Now I understand," Estela murmured, as if from a distance. "I understand and speak and am able to read and write in every language there is. Save for this- until now. Black Speech, the language of the orcs. Now, to my pain, and everlasting grief, I am able to understand."

"Where is he?" Ereinion snarled, his voice increasing in volume. "WHERE IS ANNATAR?!"

Elrond looked at Galadriel.

"Right here," a voice that made the very air turn cold sounded nearby.

Ereinion gave a cry and would have launched himself forwards to slay Annatar, but Elrond held him back. Estela however moved slowly forwards, followed by Celebrimbor.

"You _lied_," Celebrimbor said hoarsely. His face was white. His eyes were filled with horror. "You _lied_ to me, and deceived us all. You _used_ those rings yourself, didn't you? To bring us all to ruin."

Annatar shook his head, a small smile appearing on his face. "No, I did not use those rings myself. I _bound_ them to me."

"You bound them?" Celebrimbor whispered, his face growing whiter and whiter.

"They be would drawn in, those who wear them. Drawn in closer to the power and lure of the Dark. Mesmerized by it, captivated. Tempted, even. And the more they are drawn in, the less attached they grow to other wordly things- their hopes and dreams, their loves and hates. Their body-feelings of hunger and cold or heat. Their goals and ambitions, even. Until at last, they would lose themselves, their physical forms, leeched from their souls, until at last, their spirits too, would be bound to me. Enslaved as you call it- my wraiths in the dark."

"And my son?" Estela said in a deadly voice.

"Not him." Annatar smiled. "His physical form will remain. But his elven-hood will be burnt away, like paper in a flame. His soul was taken before he was even born. I do not need to enslave him when he is already mine- my child who bears my blood, as much as yours, Great King, or yours Good Queen. And soon he will follow my orders- he will lead on, as I did once, for my master. My son. He will unleash death and destruction upon all- and rain an apocalypse down, releasing a flood of darkness and death which sweeps across all. He will be as I was to Morgoth, my master."

Galadriel tried not to shake before this horrible, awful, abominable thing. More poisonous than anything- not even the elves taken to Utumno, turned to orcs by Morgoth had been taken as such. They at least knew life before being vanquished of any semblance to their former selves. At least they would only be mere minions- enslaved not overtaken and possessed. At least they knew and found themselves and breathed a life of their own. There were no words to describe this. And if the changing of elf to orc in the depths of Utumno was the most hateful thing in the eyes of Ilúvatar, how much more foul was this, in the eyes of the Father of All!

She was sure she was so white she might have been more lifeless than a corpse. She did not dare to look at the High King and Estela, to see what they looked like- what her cousins must have thought- to know that their grandson was taken by evil- to be ensnared and possessed before anything could form- any knowledge of oneself- and hope or dream of the future. Golden Maitimo and Eärelen, her closest friend, more like sister than cousin, and Findekáno- more of a brother, like all the rest, than an uncle's son. What they all must have felt!

How grateful she was, then. For the first time, she was grateful they were not here to witness such a thing!

"You are fouler than Morgoth," she whispered.

Estela, frozen at first, like her husband, then screamed. Screamed as long and loud as she could. Screaming to the heavens, screaming to the All-Father and the Ainur, no doubt. And cursing Morgoth in those wordless screams.

"Curse you!" Estela screamed, yet sobbed. "Curse and damn you to a Doom worse than what he will feel. May you find an end so foul that no one dark will dare to speak of it! May you always know sorrow and failure, before you grasp any! I CURSE YOU, SAURON THE ABHORRED- ABOMINATION IN THE EYES OF ALL!" She shrieked so loud, there was no doubt those high above would hear it.

As it turned out, history did repeat itself. For like her grandfather before her, Estela named him. Morgoth the Dark Enemy of the World, and now Sauron the Abhorred. Names had power, she had sealed their fates: The Dark Lord and the line who would seek to fight him, bring him to his knees, destroy him until the end of all days.

Ereinion could not be held back from trying to kill him any longer, but as he burst forth out of Elrond's limp grasp, a darkness like smoke, but far fouler, curled up and around Sauron like snakes, causing him to vanish, into air.

* * *

Back in the royal palace, they all sat limply in the High King's bedroom. Estela put her baby to bed, rocking the cradle gently.

He was still her baby- her son. Her sweet, innocent precious boy whose life had been taken away before his first breath.

But the _fëa_ had been formed at his begetting- not his birth. It was his father and mother who gave him his _hröa_. But the All-Father had given him a _fëa_\- a pure, real _fëa_, before Sauron inflicted his foul poison into his veins and sought to destroy it, crushing it forever. So he was her son, before Sauron inflicted anything upon him- he had a soul before it was snuffed out. But she could only hope that whatever soul the All-Father had given him was not completely crushed. That somewhere, deep inside, undetected by the greatest evil, a trace of an elven soul still lingered in the small boy.

And would remain until the day it came out again. And it would. It must.

"He is no longer your son," whispered Círdan. They had just broken the news to him. "He is no more your son, Ereinion, than if he had been sired purely by the foul creature who so heartlessly took him."

"I sired him." Ereinion said numbly. "Before he was poisoned. He would have lived, if it were not for that. What are you suggesting, that I _kill_ my own son?!" He looked up his eyes and face a mask of anguish.

"_He is not gone,"_ Estela said suddenly. "Not completely." Everyone turned and stared. "He is my child. And his father's. And the Father of All gave him a soul long before he was possessed. It must still be there- his soul, not completely gone- something must still remain. The forces of evil do not take all." Her eyes were anguished.

"You cannot announce his birth, can you?" Elrond asked quietly. "Nor can you declare him High Prince and heir."

"No," Estela whispered, tears running down her face as she looked at her lost child. "No, he is the first to be treated as such. He must be kept secret. And safe- for there are more who wish to kill him thoughtlessly and others who would capture and use him. Until as such, I shall never give up hope or stop the fight to save him. _My son_." She looked up, and in her face, was also anguish.

Galadriel nodded. "And we shall continue to hope and do all that we can." She declared. "What name shall you give him?"

They all looked at the baby. There would be no public ceremony- no celebrations. No declaration at all. Nothing to indicate that a child lived and breathed somewhere within the palace in Lindon. But he still will have a name- a sign that they had no given up on him.

"I shall call him Avanwion." Ereinion said quietly. He stood and walked over to the edge of the cradle. Galadriel again felt a chill. _Son of the Forbidden_. For this boy bore the new Dark Lord's blood in his veins. "Until such a time when he can be called Aranyon. Two father-names I give him, and one day, one will be erased and he can be called by another that took its place."

Aranyon meant Free One.

"I shall call him Fëanuldon," Estela whispered. "The Secret Spirit. For I believe, no I _know_, that somewhere, deep within, unseen by all including the eyes of evil, an elven spirit still lingers until it can come out."

"Very well, then." Elrond nodded.

They all took one last look at the doomed child, born under a dark star and all wondered fearfully if there was any hope in the world.

Morgoth might have destroyed the past. But Sauron had annihilated the future.

Númenor had a new king.

Míriel, daughter of Tar-Palantir was not killed, according to council reports. But to the disgust and shock of the elves, her cousin forced her to enter marriage with him.

Such a union was another reminder of history- save then, it was not successful. After all, how could Estela ever forget Itarillë, the one she was so close to as a child, to be a sister? How could she forget the other cousin- the one she never met- who desired Itarillë and betrayed her, Turukáno and their city, allowing them to fall to ash?

No, she could not forget.

History repeats itself- although events are sometimes altered.

The new king was Ar-Pharazôn. And Tar-Míriel, as she had called herself, was forced to accept him. No, no one had any doubt the 'marriage', if one called such a disgusting thing that, would be far from successful and happy.

And somewhere, there was a dark, barren, ash-ridden land. It was the remnant of Morgoth's reign- no life grew there, except for the foul _Ungol_\- the spider daughter of Ungoliant named Shelob.

But another had arrived.

Sauron stood at the edge of the cliff that overlooked the sea and fall of lava below. He smiled.

Mordor.

One Dark Lord fell, another rose to take his place.

The new Dark Lord of Mordor shed his fair visage, to reveal hair like the one on the doomed babe and eyes as black as the void- until it glowed like the lava, below that was, with slits for pupils.

And all would tremble before him. Seven rings for the Dwarves. Nine for the Men. But the elves discovered his plan before any more rings could be forged-no matter- he had poisoned the elves from within.

Soon, his plans would come into fruition. And yes, the boy would be a part of it.

Ah, the boy. Such great plans he had for the child. Such great plans.

And the boy would be at the head of his army- all will tremble with fright at the mere mention of his name.

Almost as much as his father's.

* * *

**_Once again, _Merin Essi ar Quenteli_ has saved the day with names. Don't worry, as ominous as this sounds this is not the end of everything- I'm not going to say what will happen to Estela's son, but there is hope. And yes, there's more still to come. I can't make any promises, I know what you want. But there's always hope. I came up with the idea of Estela cursing him with that name, because it seemed quite an interesting twist- a sign that history is repeating itself- _****_Fëanor_**_** renaming Morgoth, and Estela renaming Sauron.**_

**_And I think we all know all that Estela cursed him with, will eventually come true._**


	35. Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Five

Estela gazed up at the skies. Winter was swiftly on the way. And winter had its own beauty and its own ugliness to it.

Estela looked up at the grey clouds thickly covering the sky above as snowflakes fell. Her winter cloak was wrapped around her, and her husband came forwards, wrapping his arms around her, and kissing her head.

She often felt bad about that. About many things.

Not about the kinslayings. She was not responsible for any of those- although it was difficult to get rid of the guilt she felt when she remembered Olwë and Arcalimar, her great-grandfather and grandfather respectively, standing up to Fëanáro, her other grandfather in the height of his madness, to convince her to stay along with their treasured ships.

Winter was coming. Only now did she feel the winds.

"_Melmenya,"_ Ereinion whispered, coming from behind her and enfolding her in his arms. She leaned back and smiled up at him. "My love."

Estela felt the tears in her eyes rise again, but she closed them. Even though there were winds that would have blown them away and dried her cheeks, she still could not release them. To release them was to release hope.

Ereinion sensed this and enfolded her tighter and closer to him. She could feel the heat in his body, despite the cloak and the layers of warm clothing. It was a welcome sensation, as was the love and emotional warmth he provided. A comfort that she had to go so many centuries without, which she now realised how much she missed.

"Sauron has gone." She said blankly. "We cannot find him anywhere."

He held her tighter. "He will not hide for long. If he intends what you believe him to intend, he cannot do it, cowering in the shadows. Even Morgoth struck when he could."

"Don't I remember," Estela expelled a breath. "The problem isn't merely when and where he would strike, but whether or not we would be prepared when the time comes. How is it, the orcs answer to him now? What draws them to him- the strength of his power, their fear of him? Their desire for protection, or for someone who would let them kill and torture all they want?"

"Who knows what the orcs truly feel?" Ereinion asked. "But yes, they are drawn to him. You are right. Nothing ever truly ceased."

There was a rage, a burning rage in the two at that, and a pent-up grief and pain that they had lost their child before they could even know him properly. Before they gazed into his face, his eyes. Oh, his eyes, Estela thought. She couldn't imagine. What would they have been like if he had not felt the bitterness of the poison of Sauron's veins? Would they have been green like hers? Or perhaps blue, like his father's? Would they have been grey-green, like Anairë's, or dark blue like Fëanáro, her grandfather? Would they have resembled any of her cousins, both Noldorin and Telerin? Or perhaps his Vanyarin kin? And that wasn't the question she would like most to be answered.

What would he have been like, she thought, without the poison? Tormenting herself with these thoughts, the mother of the doomed child could not help but repeat them? Would he have been full of laughter? Playful? Charming? Sulky and whiny as an infant? Would he have enjoyed being played with? Would he have had a hearty appetite? Would he have enjoyed solid foods or milk more? What would his smile have been like? Or his cry?

She was wrong to think of this, she scolded herself. She had dwelt and cursed the past for so long, she should have thought more about the future, and what would have happened if it had been lost. Of course she had given up hope of a future like what she was experiencing now, but now that she had lost it, what was she going to do? She should have thought about it then.

Although she had no idea, no imagining that such a thing could happen.

The breeze whispered, and bare, brown leaves danced, pulled by the winds. Her hair blew in strands and brushed Ereinion, but he did not seem to care. Fëanuldon could not eat food, or drink milk like a normal child. Instead Elrond had fixed him with a tonic (she tried not to shudder or feel bloodless when she thought about the tonic that resulted in all of this), that provided him with the necessary nutrients. It took several attempts, but they managed to come up with up with one he actually liked and could swallow without coughing up.

Shockingly the base of which the other ingredients were mixed with was animal blood. And as the teeth matured, she could only feed him raw chunks of meat, cut small, but things like liver and kidney were a favourite of his along with the tonic. Of course his system required him to eat cooked food, but he preferred the meat cooked rare. When they tried to get him to eat vegetables, he vomited them out as if they were toxins. The only vegetable he could eat, was some vine, spiky and similar to a nettle, fibrous and bitter, although Elrond claimed it was actually beneficial for anyone's health the reason as to why no one ate it was understandable- it was viler than anything anyone had ever tasted. But it was very good for him, and considering there were so few things that he could consume they planted it in great quantities and even made it into a drink- a shaken one, similar to what children loved to drink, except theirs were made of milk and sweetened with sugar, honey and sweets crushed and blended in. He also ate berries that were considered sickening or even poisonous by men and dwarves. They were a treat for him and were also mixed in the drink.

Estela turned her head to the distance that, unseen to all eyes, save hers because it was carefully hidden, the house that hid her son.

No one ever knew of his existence. Not the members of the court, not even friends. He had never been declared the heir to the throne and the Houses of Fingolfin or Fëanor- or Olwë, for that matter. They would keep his existence a closely-guarded secret- until they could find a cure that would leech the poison from his veins.

Until then the power of Narya, Vilya and Nenya, the three rings to keep the evil at bay, within him as well as outside their boundaries. For once, she could imagine what her son might have been like- a small glimpse into his real character had he not been poisoned. For once she was grateful for those creations.

It was worth more to her than anything.

That must have been what her parents felt, Estela thought. The kind of love, and the desire to do anything, anything at all, for their offspring. And now she felt the same way for her own son.

But would he ever be free? Free to live his life in peace and joy- to be whom he is deep inside, and who he should be without Sauron's curse? Would they be free?

As she thought, she should have counted her blessings, as little as they seem.

"What now, my love?" She asked her husband, slipping into their native Quenya, the language they preferred.

He turned his mournful sapphire eyes towards her. There was something there- something steady- like the anchors of a ship, holding on and keeping everything in place, and without it, everything and everyone would be lost.

Estela- hope. Her mother named her well. Ereinion's eyes were filled with weary sadness, but a powerful strength as well.

He was the High King. Chosen to succeed Fingon the Valiant. And now…

"Our time in Middle-Earth will soon come to an end," Estela said. "One day, our people will leave these shores as they came. And not only they- but the elves of the woods- the Sindar and Silvan. They will all come. And we would be forgotten, but in a few remnants of myths, legends and tales. The dwarves too, would vanish into their mountain halls, as Durin himself had come from beneath, so too will they retreat the way they came. This much I feel in the depths of everything I have."

"And man?" Ereinion asked, looking at her. He still held her close. He didn't want to let go. But if what she said was true, then they would do this together. And they would not leave their son behind.

"Man will stay," Estela said. "Perhaps it will be their world entirely, after we are gone. I only hope they make it a better place, free of evil."

* * *

The boy slept. He never made a sound. He no longer cried. He had been well-fed, and was healthy. His development proceeded rapidly. Not so much his body, but his mind.

Avanwion, or Fëanuldon, ate well, slept well and did everything else well. So why were they so uneasy?

He was in his cradle. Estela watched him as he slept, his hair spilled onto his pillow. The rush of love, fear and protectiveness swept through her, and threatened to make the tears rise to her eyes. It was too overwhelming.

She couldn't give up on him. She never would, not even if she could.

She stroked his hair gently. The little boy did not rouse from his slumber. Estela loved him, so. How could she bear this? How could she not love him?

It threatened to tear and shatter her heart. How was it she still had hope?

She kissed him. He did not even stir. It was only when she turned to leave the nursery after a while that a small voice piped up, "Mother?"

She stopped and turned. _"Yonya,"_ she said warmly smiling trying to keep her sadness from this beloved boy. _My son. _

"Amil," he responded in turn. His mind was very quickly developing. Humans would be amazed by elven children's rapid mental development and the development of their abilities, but it was normal. Although in her son's case, he developed there much quicker.

"_Yonya_, did I wake you?" She asked quietly in Quenya.

He blinked and shook his head. "No, _Ammë_," he said, responding in turn. She hoped speaking to him in the tongue of the Valinorean peoples would bring him slightly closer to light.

"Do you wish me to stay, or leave?" She asked, smiling slightly. The boy looked at her firmly. "Stay."

"Very well, Fëanuldon." She said, moving towards him again. "Are you going back to sleep, or do you want to wake up? It's early morning."

"Why are you awake?" He asked, almost accusingly.

"Because I am your mother," she replied. "And I wanted to check on you."

"Then where is Atar?" He demanded.

Her smile grew strained. "Your father is busy at the moment. You know he comes as often as he can, it is hard for him to get away." She stroked his fine silky hair

"Is it those people again? Why do they always bother him?"

She hesitated. She did not want to give reasons as to why he was not declared High Prince, so in actuality, her son had no idea that his father was a king.

He was that isolated.

"Because they have to," she sighed. "It is not a matter of choice. Your father is a noble person and would do anything for any innocent in this world."

He looked like he was about to argue, but that wasn't what caught Estela's attention. His eyes glowed like molten lava rocks, emphasizing just how black his pupils were.

At least they were not slits like a snake's.

But even she can sense the anger, the rage and the eagerness of something chained to be unleashed in full fury.

* * *

"These matters cannot be disputed. He who calls himself Sauron has made matters far worse," Astaro, one of the best advisors, said.

"But Celebrimbor has taken back the Rings of Power," Ereinion said calmly. "What will this mean?"

"Hopefully, Sauron cannot unleash his plans until he has them." Astaro replied. "But Nenya, Vilya and Narya must be hidden at all costs."

They were what kept them safe, Ereinion knew. But they were still so carefully hidden and rarely put on- only to strengthen the boundaries and keep the poisonous blood of evil at bay inside his son.

"That is already done." Ereinion said. Estela refused to take a Ring of Power on pain of death, she declared. She was only grateful for the protection they offered to their peoples, and their son.

"But what of Sauron?" Calassion asked. "He will not give up."

"No," Elrond confirmed.

Estela fought the urge to sigh and rub her hand over her face.

"He will retreat somewhere, and gather as much strength as he could." Estela admitted. "As an Umaia, he would be able to accomplish great miracles, though not the wonderful kind. But he would need something more to cover a second darkness over Middle-Earth."

"Like what?" Calassion asked.

"A ring." Estela looked at him. "Another Ring of Power. This time, to manipulate and bring the bearers of the other Rings and bind them to his will, turning them until they no longer have anything left- no semblance of their former selves- not even their _fëar_ and _hröar_."

Everyone shuddered. "It is poisonous to them," Estela thought of her son. "It draws everything- their identities, their loves and hates, their dislikes and likes, their memories and experiences, their knowledge- to the new Dark Lord and he directs them and makes them see things the way he wants. They will have no more identities other than what he will give them. They cannot even die, for they are already lost."

There was a long, horrified, shocked silence and nearly every face was white.

"Abomination." Someone whispered.

Estela thought of her son. She wanted him and her husband with her. She wanted her baby in her arms.

But he wasn't just her baby. He was Avanwion, Son of the Forbidden.

No matter how much she insisted he was Fëanuldon.

* * *

Sauron smiled as he observed his forces down below.

The orcs gathered, mumbled and growled, baring their teeth, but not in a threatening way. Their eyes did not look up.

They were more than just afraid. They were paralyzed with terror and awe.

And the cause was the upcoming battle.

His lip curled in annoyance. That damned queen and the High King knew this was coming, and he knew that they would be a nuisance at the very least, or more likely, a genuine threat to everything he had worked so hard to build. Centuries of planning… Lost, or would be lost if Gil-Galad and the queen were to do something.

The House of Finwë were far more than a thorn in Sauron's side. They were the foul, bitter, dangerous, loathsome poison in his mouth. They were the executioner's sword about to strike. They were the disease, the plague that threatened them, sweeping and raging just outside his door. Morgoth felt the same way.

And ultimately Morgoth tried to ignore them- surprise. They were more dangerous than he thought and Sauron never repeated mistakes- his or his former master's.

It was vital- no, more than vital even if such words could ever describe such a thing- that their offspring would not come forth into the world. Bad enough with father and mother like this, and grandparents too, but an all-powerful elven king descended from the greatest heroes, coming to take action against him? The idea was unthinkable.

At first, Sauron thought about killing the queen and the unborn child. But then he had a plan. A plan that would turn a great future threat into a powerful tool- his greatest lieutenant. He had no intention of being imprisoned or destroyed, but if he did…

This child would be to him as he was to Morgoth. He already decided that.

As for the others…

Gil-Galad, Celebrimbor and Estela, the three inheritors, and the child of Celebrimbor would have to be exterminated.

Sauron ground his teeth and his eyes flashed orange-gold in rage, their pupils turning into slits. He needed to recover the Rings from Celebrimbor.

He would make certain of it.

* * *

Estela twisted and turned in her restless sleep.

She saw darkness, Dreams of twisting dark floods, of mass orc armies, of blood. And yet…

She saw light.

How was this possible?

Everything pointed to danger and yet…

A Maia stood before her shining with light. Not Sauron, but a true Maia.

She held out her hand. _Do not despair, my child._

_My child._

_You have prayed every night for our help._

She did, but she never dreamed they would answer.

_Ah, but we would. Something is about to happen, but make no mistake, the end is never the end. After all has calmed and the world is changed, when the waters have swallowed the rotting carcass of the once-magnificent, great beast and washed clean its filth, come to me. When the waves overtake the ships, and your home seems lost to you forever, come to me._

_Come to me in the forest of Nan Elmoth, like your kinsman Thingol once cameto Melian._

Estela woke with a start, astounded.

What did she mean? The world changed? A great beast? Ships and waves? _Nan Elmoth?_

Dreams were so confusing for her. But she clung onto this, this unsolved riddle, this one shred of hope, like a lifeline.

Suddenly she was filled with a new strength to go on.

In the meantime, trouble was stirring. But there was more hope than before.

Sauron's black eyes gleamed. His armies streamed forth from the underground pits and tunnels.

Now was the time. The world was ripe for taking.

With the 'Free Peoples' divided and quarrelling over their own petty squabbles, now was the time to strike, and to win.

And strike hard and win he would.

* * *

_**I know it's been a while and I'm sorry. I'm also sorry over the disturbing content of the last two chapters. But there is more to the story. As she said, the end is never the end!**_


	36. Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Six

The soldiers marched to the council room, where the High King held a council meeting.

"My lord," The most senior officer announced after the doors opened. They halted whatever they were doing, and the High King looked up, his blue eyes sharp and piercing, from the maps he was studying.

"Sauron has attacked the cities of the Northmen." Many people's jaws dropped. Gil-Galad stood frozen.

"He has vast armies of not only orcs, but trolls, goblins, wargs and their riders." The commander took a deep breath. "It is not merely the variety, but the sheer size and number of Sauron's forces that overwhelmed us. No such force was ever seen since the days of…" He swallowed. "Of Morgoth." He finished.

Everyone gasped and the chamber burst into uproar.

Everyone was shouting, screaming, panicking, gesticulating, and much more.

Only Ereinion Gil-Galad kept his steely calm.

"Silence!" His voice boomed majestically throughout the room.

He looked at an attendant. "Fetch the Queen."

"Yes, my lord." The attendant bowed and quickly left. Estela was not presently with them.

"Get the commanders here," he instructed the one still standing at the door. "Immediately. Send a message to Celeborn and the Kings Oropher and Amdir, and the _Elendili_. Muster the troops. We ready ourselves for war."

Estela arrived not long after, her face expressionless but for the dark, knowing in her eyes.

He walked over to her. "It's time."

She nodded. She'd lived through this. She knew it was coming. It was nothing new to her.

She walked away. They all needed to prepare.

Ereinion watched her from behind, wishing he could go with her. But as High King, there were other things to do.

The smiths hammered swords, daggers, spear-heads and arrow-tips into sharp, deadly points. Swords were honed with a whetstone. Quivers were refilled. Bow-strings were tested. Swords were plunged into troughs to cool down before finishing. Armour was fitted and checked for any weaknesses. Discreet knives were slid into sheaths to be stowed safely away, for emergencies when the enemy least expected it.

While the soldiers drilled a messenger rode into the courtyard.

"King Oropher has heard of the attacks." The messenger announced to Gil-Galad dressed in full battle-armour, putting on his gauntlets. The High King looked sharply at him. Estela beside him, was still.

"The _Elendili_ are mustering." The messenger continued. "The Northmen are joining them."

"What of the Wood-Elves?" The High King asked.

The messenger hesitated. "I do not know, my king." He admitted. "No word has been sent from them. The message might have been delivered but…"

Ereinion nodded. "I see. You may go. Refresh yourself and rest briefly, gather new supplies if you need it, and another horse. I fear we will need to send another message before long." The messenger bowed and left.

Ereinion turned to Estela. "I fear this is all too soon," he admitted. "No one wanted to admit that Sauron would acquire this much power."

"He has yet to come to his full strength. He is still confined," Estela said. "He will need a greater power source. He is not as powerful as Morgoth was in his time. He was a Maia. He will need something."

"Another Ring," Ereinion said grimly. Just as she had said. Estela nodded. "And the other Rings of Power, previously made."

Celebrimbor roused himself. "The other rings," he whispered. He knew, that in his folly, he could not destroy what he had made.

It was made to withstand everything.

But the problem was, Sauron was fast approaching.

He looked up, and age was written on his normally ageless face, for once. They had to hide the Rings. Fast.

* * *

Estela walked to Fëanuldon's nursery. The boy was sitting, playing with his blocks. Estela's heart threatened to break and melt at the same time. She knelt on the carpet beside him.

"_Yonya_," she whispered lovingly, tenderly. A well of tenderness that threatened to overflow. As it was she had trouble keeping tears in her eyes. She stroked his hair.

"_Ammë_?" The little boy asked. "What's wrong?"

"I have to go for some time," Estela explained.

The little boy looked upset. He pursed his lips together. So far the darkness of Sauron's blood was kept at bay by the will of Vilya, Narya and Nenya.

"When will you be back?" He asked after a while. "Where are you going?"

Estela managed a smile. "Oh, somewhere, she said. It's not important. What's important is that you behave really well for your nursemaid while I'm away, Fëanuldon. I'll try to be back as soon as I can. Will you behave well? For me?"

The boy in all seriousness, nodded. Estela smiled again, and kissed his head.

"I love you, _Yonya_," She whispered. "Never forget that. I'll always, always love you, more than you know. More than my own self." She kissed his cheeks and embraced him, and stood, leaving before the tears could spill.

* * *

"What now?" She asked her husband. They mounted their horses.

"Now, I ride for Imladris," he replied, his sword was at his hip and his spear Aeglos at his back.

"Will you come with me?" He asked. She nodded. "But I must also go from there to the Greenwood and Lothlórien. They will need our help in understanding."

He nodded tightly. "And from there…" Estela faltered. Ereinion turned to her, frowning.

"There is something I must do." She said finally. "Sauron must be defeated. Nothing can allow him to remain in this world. The King's Númenóreans may no longer listen to us, but the other human races may. Not just the _Elendili_. But others. The Northmen. The Éothéod. Many others will. And I will speak with and negotiate with the Dwarves alongside my cousin."

Ereinion looked mildly interested. "You've made peace with your cousin?"

"I forgave him a long time ago," Estela sighed. "I never am much good with holding grudges. But even if I was, I cannot deny that without the Three Rings…" She trailed off. "All would have been lost." She said with a finality.

She wasn't just referring to her son. But to the elven realms, and the innocents within.

"Do you still have Vilya?" She asked Ereinion. He nodded, and discreetly showed her the Ring. It burned like a blue star, that massive sapphire, set in a ring of elegant, curving gold. The only fancy ornament Ereinion wore. But his bearing, regal and majestic poise was more than enough to make certain no one mistook him for anything other than a king.

"Why did you not take one for you own then?" He asked gently.

She looked down, before meeting his gaze again, with pained eyes. "I couldn't. My grandfather… made many things. He wore the Silmarils upon his brow once. This…. Is too much. Besides, you already have one. Better let Galadriel have the other one. To keep the realms safe."

Ereinion was silent as he contemplated what she said. Of course he knew that. But he also knew she how much she loathed the sight of such things, not merely baubles and trinkets, but also things of great power, supposedly, though he never heard of the Silmarils having any power apart from burning anything impure. But how she must have felt, how the agony must have wounded her deepest of all, every night, when she gazed at the night sky and saw the light of Eärendil's Star sailing across the sky. And the absence of Telperion. Now there was only _ithil_.

An agonising reminder that stabbed deep into her heart and soul, of what she had lost and suffered.

But it was the future that Estela was concerned with more, now. She had given up lamenting over the past.

The two raced off out of Lindon, and the gates opened to let them through. The High King and his shielmaiden wife.

* * *

Elrond Half-Elven received the High King and Queen himself, coming out to greet them. His wife Celebrían came alongside him. The twins Elladan and Elrohir as well.

Elrond bowed deeply. "_Aranya_," He murmured, greeting in the Quenya language.

"Lord Elrond," Ereinion greeted. He swung down from his horse. Estela nodded to Elrond and his wife and sons, giving them a slight smile.

She studied Imladris carefully as she dismounted. Elrond had chosen an excellent place for beauty _and_ safety. This was one of the safest places, surely, in all Middle-Earth. The whole city was enclosed by the cliffs, not claustrophobic, but safe, no gaps, absolutely not the slightest weakness here, she thought. And there was the river and the waterfalls- the sound of the water would muffle the sounds of city-life, and sentient activities to anyone not of elven lineage. Not to mention they blocked just about every path not enclosed by rock. The Moors and foothills helped as well, hiding the place extremely well. Elrond also had a strong guard, she noted. But the city had yet to be finished, truth be told. It had just begun. Although elves build fast- look at Gondolin and Doriath- such a settlement, designed to be a safe refuge for elves, needed time to complete.

"My Queen," Elrond bowed. Estela gave a smile as she shook her head. "Elrond there has never been any need for formalities between us. You know that."

He smiled and the Lady Celebrían and their two sons came forwards. Estela gave the boys a curious look. She had last seen them when they were small, they were identical, handsome with chiselled features, striking grey eyes and their father's ebony hair. Already, strength and nobility emanated from their faces and bearings. Quite a change, she thought amused, from the mischievous duo she remembered.

"Greetings, great King and Queen." Celebrían curtsied and her two sons bowed. They were still youths, but how they have grown, Estela marvelled.

Then a change came across her, as she thought of her own son. These boys were untroubled by shadow within themselves. They had a childhood free of darkness, where they played, tumbled in the rolling hills and splashed in the streams of this glorious place. Of sun, wind and laughter. Wet days spent splashing in the puddles and dancing in the rain, camping and riding. What about him? He never experienced those things, will he ever feel the light, within and outside?

Pain ripped through her, and threatened to bring her to her knees, but she pushed it away. Now was not the time.

"My lady," Ereinion acknowledged. He nodded to the sons of Elrond. "Rise." They did so, the twins seemed to fight an expression of awe on their faces as they looked at the couple.

"We welcome you to Imladris," They intoned. Estela raised her eyebrows. "Very proper." She smiled. "I suppose years of their father's lectures taught them well."

The twins flushed.

"Will you be staying for long?" Elrond asked.

"Not for long," Ereinion warned. "I fear that there are other realms we must go to. Indeed, Estela plans to negotiate with the Dwarves as well."

She nodded. "My cousin and I have planned a meeting with the Dwarves of Khazad-dûm."

Elrond sighed. "If there is one or two persons that can ever make the dwarves see reason and accomplish the impossible with ease that the rest of us can never believe, it is the two of you. Even my advice falls of deaf ears when it comes to them."

Estela smirked. She looked at the city in awe. "It is a marvellous place you have created."

Elrond smiled.

Estela said in relief. "I feel as this will somehow last. That no matter what happens in the world, this is the safest of places- this, Lindon and Lothlórien."

"And Valinor," Celebrían put in.

"Yes," Estela said, but she faltered. Somehow, something just didn't seem right about that, even though Valinor was the safest place in Arda.

* * *

Sauron growled.

The Númenóreans were a pain, indeed. He still didn't have the other rings, since that Ringmaker was somehow clever enough to steal them from right under his nose. Until the Rings were distributed, by him and him alone, and the One Ring, his master creation was made, then nothing could be accomplished.

Damn the Fëanorians.

Now the Númenóreans decided to march against him. True, they didn't march and make peace with the elves, but they still marched.

He was outnumbered, and defenceless save for a few filthy orcs, whose brains were no better than the dung heap that spawned them.

He had to accomplish this another way, he knew he had not Morgoth's strength, as much as he hated to admit it, but cunning and resourcefulness to get what he wanted. And that was power to rule Arda.

Perhaps it was too early indeed to call him the King of Men and Lord of the Earth. But now the Númenóreans were marching for him. They had already gone so far against the elves, the Creator, and the Ainur.

_Why not turn them a little further?_ He thought.

And so Sauron smiled as he came up with a more insidious plan.

* * *

"What?" Estela demanded as the news came forth.

"Elrond," The High King said dangerously. "You mean to say, that in our absence, the Númenóreans have landed in Middle-Earth?"

Elrond looked grim. "They have not come to attack, but no doubt they have established their rule in certain human settlements, and are preparing for war- not with us, but with Sauron."

Estela looked incredulously at Ereinion. "What else do you know?" He demanded.

"That the worst is yet to come," Elrond said gravely. "Ar-Pharazôn and the King's Men were offended by Sauron's use of the titles 'King of Men' and 'Lord of the Earth', yet they despise and envy us, more than they fear and hate him."

"So they will not help us." Elrond couldn't remember who spoke it- the High King or Queen, but he closed his eyes and furrowed his brow as he tried to see.

Foresight was always his gift, but sometimes, it could hardly be counted as a blessing, to see such horrible things. Celebrian paused. "What do you see?" She asked, coming forwards, laying her hands on his overburdened shoulders.

"Many things," He said. He gripped the table, hard. "I see the waves, rising, to such height I have never dreamed. Arda will change, and Elros' legacy will be lost."

Ereinion looked alarmed. "What is this that you speak of?" "What do you mean?" Estela gasped.

Elrond looked up, his eyes told a thousand things that words will never say. "That is all I saw and know. Elros' legacy will be lost."

Estela felt her breath catch in her throat. "Númenor?" Ereinion demanded. "I pray you, Elrond, don't speak in riddles."

"It is not riddles, but the truth," Elrond said. "Forgive me, my king, but that is all I can say."

"What's going to happen to Númenor?" Estela asked. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't…

Elrond looked to her. "There is nothing we can do. Men have the gift which they have always taken for granted. They may not have immortality, yet they do have the gift of creating their own destiny, if they have the strength and the will to do it- which they have. What happens over the next weeks and months will depend upon the strength and will of Men- all humankind, and in particular, those of Númenor. There is nothing more we can do."

"Obviously they will not form an alliance with us," Estela muttered, recovering herself.

"No." Ereinion and Elrond confirmed simultaneously.

Celebrían pressed her lips together. "But if the Númenóreans are already marching upon Sauron…"

Elrond shook his head. "You know of how Morgoth reacted to the coming of Men." He said darkly. "He knew of their ability to shape their own fate. He knew what they were capable of- of ambition and desire for power. More than any other race, are Men susceptible to such strength- and weakness."

Estela breathed out a powerful sigh.

She turned to the window overlooking the valley. They were in Elrond's private council chamber. The waterfalls splashed and cascaded down the cliffs, catching a rainbow of colours in the light of the sun. Everything was bright, lush, fresh and beautiful. Yet she saw none of it.

"I have had a dream." She said as if from a great distance.

Instantly Ereinion frowned. "I know of your dreams. Do I have reason to be wary?"

"You always do," Estela pointed. "But in this case, I do not know. I believe they were a mixture of messages.

Estela didn't have Elrond and Galadriel's gift of foresight the same way they did, but always, throughout her life, she had a powerful sense of what was to come- a strength in knowing and preparing for the worst. That helped a lot when the terrible blows came.

The only difference between then and now, was that now, she now _had_ something to lose. Then she fought with little.

"I must go with Ereinion to the Greenwood." She said with a finality. "And to Lothlórien. After that I will go alone to Khazad-dûm to meet my cousin and the dwarves there."

"Of course," Elrond said. He had no doubt while humans might trample such a gift to the ground, elves were bound by their own fates.

What will happen over the next weeks and months, maybe even centuries, would not be of Estela's choosing. It never was.

The Greenwood was alerted, and the meetings there in Amon Lanc and Caras Galadhon were more than successful. Ereinion marvelled, genuinely, at his wife's ability to get along wonderfully well with anyone she set her mind to.

The dwarves were already won over by her, anyway before she even set out. Ereinion went with her, and met Celebrimbor there.

Estela had a steely determination in her eyes and an energy that others could only envy. But the determination was replaced by confusion when a messenger arrived with news of Sauron.

He had been captured.

Estela stared and looked at her husband. "How is this possible?"

"How many were killed in the assault upon the Enemy?" Ereinion demanded.

She narrowed her eyes. They both knew where this was going. "None, my King and Queen." The messenger answered.

They both looked at each other aghast.

Understanding flashed in Ereinion's blue eyes. "It's a trap," Estela gasped. "He set them up. He wanted them to capture him. He has another purpose for them."

The king Durin IV of the Dwarves stroked his beard thoughtfully and leaned forwards. "Could it not be that he saw that they outnumbered him vastly, and saw that he could not win?"

Estela shook her head. "Sauron always finds a way," Ereinion said darkly. "Always does he creep where we least expect, and creates more evil than we have ever imagined." Estela remarked.

Ereinion brooded silently over his cup of mead. "What is he planning now?" He pondered darkly. "Damn him, damn him to the end of all days."

Estela could not sleep that night. It wasn't that they were underground.

Something was not right.

She decided to postpone her trip to find a cure for her son- only for a slight while.

Returning to Lindon, Estela received distressing news, however.

"My lord, my lady." A courier bowed. Ereinion raised his eyebrow. "Well? What is it?"

"Sauron has been captured by the Númenóreans, but he is not a prisoner anymore. Instead Ar-Pharazôn holds him as an honoured guest."

Ereinion's eyes flashed and his met Estela's panicked emerald ones.

"Now it's true." She whispered.

This was the beginning of the end. But for whom?

* * *

**_Yeah, I know. I'm late. And this chapter really isn't much. you don't see much of Sauron in this one. And Eregion is still standing along with __Númenor,__ but I'm trying to put a spin into things. But the next chapter is MONUMENTAL. So please bear with me. There the world is about to be changed- literally. And Estela- and anyone else, gets a big surprise at the end. People must have noticed that although she doesn't have the Gift of Sight, like Elrond and Galadriel, she does have an uncanny tendency to sense things coming._**

_**Here's another thing- I've noticed how many people want an AU where Gil-Galad lives! Wow, that guy is really inspiring isn't he? Look, I can't make promises, but I don't like unhappy endings anymore than you do, so no matter what happens- THIS IS NOT THE END.**_

_**I'm planning a sequel anyway. There's already one, but I'm taking that one down- compared to this, I think it's not worth it.**_


	37. Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Everything changed. She knew it, he knew it. If everything had yet to change- if they had yet to feel it, at least, they knew that something was coming.

Elves don't direct their fates- that's human. For the King's Men of Númenor and their pathetic leader, Ar-Pharazôn, they take the ability for granted. Furthermore, they rip it off others, and try to convince each other that they have higher callings- namely the ones given by the king.

Is it any surprise that Numenor was going to the rocks? They have the greatest gifts, gifts that no other human had, or had yet to obtain, yet they wanted more. They could get more. What would happen if they realised they could try?

Elves and immortality. Immortality and the binding of immortals to the fate written in the stars. Humans and the Gift of Men. Death and the ability of mortal humans to make a future of their own.

It was amazing how blessings and curses came hand in hand together, as someone very important to Estela would someday remark when thinking about all of this.

Something was wrong. She knew it, he knew it, they both sensed it, and felt it, even if Sauron wasn't treated with great ceremony and honouring by the Númenóreans and their king.

* * *

Of course not all Númenóreans, off and on the island kingdom liked this.

In Lindon, Imladris, the kingdoms of the Faithful, Lothlórien and even Greenwood, they heard whispers and rumours.

Soon over the next few months, more and more refugees and migrants streamed from Númenor.

They brought with them stories, and what everyone heard filled them with horror.

The Númenóreans had begun cutting down trees, and raising the taxes, especially to the Faithful and those they considered a burden upon society- such as the sickly, elderly, permanently injured, and those with too many children yet with little means to support them. Gardens were being dug up, statues, paintings and other works of art destroyed.

And so with that Estela met with her husband.

"It's time to call a great assembly of our people here, in Lindon."

Ereinion nodded, his eyes pained and his face strong, but grave.

"Numenor. The Valar…. Who knew that Elros' legacy would end like this," he muttered bitterly. Estela smiled with the same bitterness. "How his brother must feel," she wondered. "Knowing that the beginning of the end has come."

There was no denying it anymore. Nothing had happened yet. And the smallest shred of hope still clung to them. But there was no denying….

The world was about to change forever, Estela thought. Never again would Arda or the beings within, be the same.

She had no idea how right she was.

* * *

"The Accursed One is speaking against the Valar in Númenor."

Calassion looked around him with a gaze like iron.

"They are listening to him."

"Well that is to be expected," Ereinion sighed. "But tell us; what else is he doing?"

Calassion took a deep breath and he turned to Queen Estela.

Estela in a green velvet gown with an emerald and silver belt and her hair in copper curls bound with a gold and emerald crown, stepped forwards.

Now she was a queen. But a queen, she discovered, fought no less than a shieldmaiden.

"My spies in Númenor tell me that he is focusing his teachings upon the Darkness." Estela began. Her emerald eyes were even more piercing than usual as she addressed everyone.

"Sauron is not only speaking against the Valar, he says that the Darkness alone nourishes them. He said, 'Darkness alone is worshipful, and the Lord of thereof, may yet make other worlds to be gifts to those who serve him, so that the increase of their power shall find no end.'" She looked up at her own husband, meeting his own piercing, burning eyes.

"He is turning the people of Numenor, not just against the Valar, but against the All-Father, himself."

The gasp that resounded in the room was silenced by Ereinion holding up his hand.

"Let the Queen speak." He kept his eyes fixed upon his wife, even as his voice rang out.

"Ar-Pharazôn has heard these words. And so he called upon Sauron and the Abhorred One said that this lord, is indeed Morgoth, the Dark Lord of the First Age." Another gasp. "Sauron has lured and bewitched the mind of Ar-Pharazon and his followers. He calls Morgoth the 'Giver of Freedom' and speaks lies, saying that Eru Ilúvatar is nothing more than a lie devised by the Valar and their 'pawns' the elves, and by serving Morgoth, formerly Melkor, the king would be free from the yoke of the Valar and the elves and thus become even stronger than them. And so he has started to worship the Dark Enemy that haunted our forefathers."

Everyone gasped openly and started giving exclamations or horror, shock, and terror all at once.

Until, "Silence!" The High King called out.

"Ar-Pharazôn has disallowed the descent upon the Mountain of Meneltarma, the sacred mountain of Númenor upon which his forebears once made their yearly pilgrimage to give thanks to the All-Father." Estela paused for a while. "Instead any who attempt, are punished by death. Nimloth, the White Tree, has been cut down."

Everyone gasped again. But the shocks of this day had yet to be over.

'Isildur son of Elendil has stolen a fruit, and taken it to Middle-Earth," Estela resumed. "But the tree itself was burned in a great temple, made for the worship of Morgoth." Everyone gasped louder than before. "Now hold yourselves steady and call upon all the strength of your souls, my dear friends for my next words will haunt you for the rest of your lives.

"Ar-Pharazôn and his followers have begun capturing members of the Faithful that still remains on Númenor. They have taken them to the temple, and in a bid to convince the spirit of Morgoth to strip them of their age and mortality, they slew the humans upon a great altar in a sacrifice to the Dark One."

If the reactions before were something. It was absolutely nothing now.

Estela waited, unseeing, unhearing. Elves had never before heard of such a thing- not merely blasphemy, but…. Indescribable. Abomination.

"And now," Estela's voice rang out. "I call upon the refugees of Númenor to speak on what has happened to their country."

Estela stepped aside, as several ragged-looking, exhausted, but strong and proud figures emerged.

Two women led the way. One was a woman in her thirties, judging by the standards of men. The other woman was in her mid-to-late forties. The first woman wore a bitter look upon her face. Her brown hair hung in cloudy strands around her face. She had tasted misery, pain, humiliation, suffering, loss and despair.

The other woman too, was bitter. Her eyes were dark and haunted, but they burned with a fire and a strength such as even the immortal elves found impressive.

"My king," the younger woman said. She swallowed. "What the queen says is true. I…we…." She swallowed again. Tears streamed down her pale face. "Monsters," she whispered. "They are monsters. Ha! Númenor is no longer the country we once knew! It is not home! It is not my home!" She wept bitterly.

"I cannot even speak it. Smoke rises from the island every day and night. The trees are being cut down. The things of beauty are being burned. Burned in the great furnaces of evil. The great temple in Armenelos! A cage of darkness! In the night they come, they drag us, screaming from our beds, and they burn us in the altar of Morgoth!" She cried, bitter tears still running down her face. "As if we have anything more to give!"

"Pharazôn!" The first woman cried out. "He's been sold a bill of goods, alright. And what do we get? More war! More taxes! Human sacrifices in the town square, you can hear the screams, all day and all night, and we're made to worship this… this hideous thing!" She brandished something made of stone in her hand. But it was covered mostly by her fingers and few could see what it actually was, except that it looked like a figure of some sort. "The great tree, kindling! The king's ears filled with rubbish from his… his advisor, the great chained wonder Sauron, now princely Sauron!" The woman spat the name out.

"Eilindel is right! Númenor is ruined. And the boats can't take us away from this charnel house fast enough!"

And with that, she threw the figure of stone where it landed on the tiled floor.

Murmurs, exclamations and whispers ran rampant as the last woman spoke her words. The young children in the group cried and would not calm down. Who knew what they had witnessed before they managed to get safely away?

"My king," Estela addressed her husband. "What say you to these people? Do you give them sanctuary beyond our shores? They have suffered more than enough, in the foul, vile evil that now brews and destroys their home."

Ereinion regarded the humans. Many of the children were sobbing and hiccupping. But one of them stared blankly into space, his mind apparently broken.

"I say, permit them entry. We may yet work together to rebuild a better life, for them and for this world."

Everyone else gave their assent. Estela nodded and turned towards the refugees. She summoned some servants and they were all taken away to be cleaned, fed, bathed and rested, their wounds tended to, but their spirits and hearts were still scarred.

Estela looked at her husband. An unspoken message ran between them. She looked to the floor.

There was the thing that the second woman had thrown. It was a figure of stone. With a great helm and a greater hammer by its immense size (for a statuette). It held a knife at its chest, and wore a crown with sharp points around its helm.

A black, black pit opened up in the depths of her stomach and something even colder than the Helcaraxë seemed to be imbedded within her heart.

It was a figure of Morgoth.

* * *

Estela sighed.

She would be close to breaking, if she were a weaker person.

Ereinion's councillors stood and argued with one another in the private council chamber.

Dressed in a blue velvet kirtle with a silver bracelet and chain around her neck, Estela watched as her husband demanded silence. His voice was the most impressive, strongest and magnificent she had ever heard in speaking- apart from her father and uncle- and Findekáno, she thought.

Now as a consort of the High King, Estela could not just take up arms- that would be an open declaration of war.

And that was what they were trying to avoid.

Frankly, she thought there was not much choice. It was inevitable. Ar-Pharazon wanted power, and apparently dominion over the earth.

Already he and his Númenóreans, loyal to the crown, were sailing to Middle-Earth, not near their borders, sure enough, but in human lands, settling and conquering them, asserting their authority there, first as friends, then subjugating, and even enslaving their fellow man, treating them as dirt, forcing them to worship Númenóreans in general, Ar-Pharazôn especially and Morgoth most of all.

Ereinion was tempted to go to war.

But the council debated and no agreement was made.

In the meantime, Estela felt ill. Alarming, almost, as elves don't feel sickness.

But maybe it was the stress and the pain of waiting on the edge of something.

As a wise Maia would later say, it was the deep breath before the plunge. Or the silent swing of the hammer-stroke.

What's worse than feeling the actual blow, is waiting for it to happen.

But even then, she wasn't certain it was that.

Maybe it was the fears and worries for her people, loved ones and son.

Even then she wasn't sure.

Estela opened her eyes.

No agreement. Again.

The second time they went through this, in three days.

Everyone picked up whatever they brought, whatever they must study and left, as Ereinion, imposing as he was, gave the order.

The maps were rolled up and Estela made her way towards her husband.

He instantly relaxed when she was by his side. She should have been closer to him during the meeting, she chided herself.

"_Melmenya_," She whispered. He was soothed. Instantly and completely.

He melted into her touch. "My love. My wife," he whispered.

She massaged his shoulders and kissed him.

"What will happen now?" She asked.

"Now?" His eyes were closed. "Now we cherish every moment we can," he whispered.

"Yes." She whispered, tears rising in her eyes. She kissed him, a well of tenderness opening from within. They had so little time.

"I love you," he whispered.

"And I love you." She responded.

Together they held each other close.

_No matter what happens,_ Estela prayed to the All-Father. _Do not let me outlive my loved ones anymore. Please. At least grant me this one wish._

_I cannot stand it if I do._

* * *

A rider emerged in Lindon's royal palace outer courtyard.

He dropped down from his horse and bowed to the steward.

Estela, emerging from the palace, saw. She looked down.

Making her way to the steward, she enquired to him, and was handed a scroll.

She nodded, gave her thanks and made her way back to her husband.

Ereinion was in the council chamber once more, but this time, he was by himself. Estela came in and unfurled the scroll.

"What's this?" He asked his wife.

She read aloud.

"Ar-Pharazôn is building a great fleet. No trees remain in Númenor, save for the seeds and soil that the Faithful took with them when they fled. No flower blooms there. No goodness. All the Faithful have left. Save for Miriel, who is weak, and has no power. The marriage is childless save for a missing daughter, who fled with Isildur, son of Elendil, son of Amandil, and married him in secret." Ereinion raised his eyebrows at this. "The fires burn in Númenor, all day and all night. There have been great thunderstorms, and even clouds shaped like eagles. The Valar are sending warnings. But the hearts of the King's Númenóreans are further hardened, and their ambition and lust for power, strength and immortality is further fuelled. There is no end to this madness."

She rolled up the scroll.

"My spies have left Númenor," she confirmed. She sighed. "I told them to do it. They already risk their lives too much, without staying. But what can be confirmed is that Míriel, daughter of Tar-Palantir, is weak, not just in power, but in mind and soul." _Just like my foremother,_ she thought bitterly. "She does not try to stop him."

Ereinion grunted. "So we are on our own." He looked to his wife.

"What do you suggest we do?"

"Build up our army. Make alliances for war." She responded.

"There's nothing that can stop Ar-Pharazôn and his men now. No negotiation. No peace. No elf has even set foot in Númenor since Ar-Gimilzôr, his grandfather."

Ereinion sighed and closed his eyes. "It indeed must be done." He opened them.

"Send out the messages. Call for a muster." He looked at an assistant.

The assistant bowed and left.

Estela winced, as she clutched at her midriff. No she did not feel well.

But nothing was well right now.

She wanted Fëanuldon right now. She wanted her husband. But she was no weakling, and she could not afford to be one right now.

She clutched the wall and pulled herself upright. She would keep going.

* * *

_Child. My child._

_The world is about to change. Remember. The end is never the end. After all has calmed and the world is changed, come to me. Come to me in the forest of Nan Elmoth, just as your kinsman Thingol once did for Melian. _

_When your home seems beyind your reach and your child seems lost, come to me. _

* * *

Estela's eyes came into focus. That dream again.

But she forced her mind to reality and went to Fëanuldon.

Always in the morning she would go.

She was his loving mother. And she prepared his breakfast. Even though it turned her stomach now. Elves do not throw up, but, oh dear, the smells. It seemed particularly strong and disgusting than usual.

She placed it on a plate and went to wake Fëanuldon, cooing him and coaxing him awake. She lovingly smiled at him, hugged him and kissed him.

After spending time with her son, she went back to the palace.

"Ereinion, my love." She greeted him with a smile, which he responded brightly and a kiss which he returned eagerly.

"What happens today?" She smiled. Normally this would have been a bright question but now…

His face clouded with sorrow and he passed her a note.

"Ar-Pharazôn builds a great ship. Already the fleet is bigger than anything Númenor has made, even in its past." He paused. "He sets sail, but not for Middle-Earth."

She looked up, her face pale and her eyes wide.

"Then where? Where does he sail to?"

Ereinion turned back to the table. The maps lay there. "That I do not know."

A few days later, she received the news.

"Aman. He is conquering Aman."

Everyone went ghostly pale and bloodless, and gasped when Gil-Galad made the news.

"He is what?" Someone, a maiden gasped.

"He is conquering Aman- or at least that is what he intends to do."

Everyone looked to Estela.

She did not speak. Estela did not know what to say. She did not know how to move or see anymore, or to hear. But then a realisation dawned to her-

Something she should have realised already. She felt it was her stupidest moment.

"He cannot take Aman."

Everyone stared at her even more.

"Valinor is protected. Those who have never seen or witnessed the might of the Valar and the Maiar cannot even comprehend how they will defend their loved ones- or even the All-Father's might. No earthly being can comprehend it. No one can match it. Not even the Ainur."

And with that all went to silence.

* * *

_A few weeks later..._

"_Yonya_!" Estela called out. "Fëanuldon!" She hurried after him.

Fëanuldon grinned and scurried away behind the hedges. Estela sighed. This garden was his only playground. The only place where he can be free to be himself.

"Fëanuldon?" She called out. "_Yonya_?" Still no response.

The garden included a maze, a large labyrinth which only she and her son memorized and knew every turn and twist. Estela sighed again and made her way to the centre of the garden.

"_Yonya_," she called out.

There, in the very centre of the maze Fëanuldon sat cross-legged. He turned suddenly and grinned at his mother.

Estela tried to keep the smile from spreading across her face, and shook her head.

The power of Vilya, Narya and Nenya kept the darkness inside him at bay- for which she was grateful.

"Look what I can do!" The little boy exclaimed.

Estela frowned. "What can you do?"

In answer, the little boy turned back around and closed his eyes.

It hit her.

He was reaching out with his mind. But he was so young. How in Arda was he capable of doing that?

Most young elves of that age would have already been able to reach out at other people's minds at close range and communicate with them telepathically. It would take a while for them to learn how to send images and coherent words however, instead of mere emotions and signals of distress, hunger and so forth. Furthermore, they had to be standing at close range to whoever they wanted to communicate with. They also had to _see_ and _know_ who they wanted to communicate with. But Fëanuldon wasn't communicating with Estela.

A sense of dread crept up upon her, although something inside her screamed, _Don't- don't open your mind, don't do it!_ And she didn't want to find out, but she knew she had to know.

She reached out with her mind.

She felt a presence alright. Something entirely foreign. Not elf. Not human- that felt different from an elf, but still recognizable.

Not dwarf.

Instead, something wild, barbarian and dark crept up upon them, something savage and wild, bestial and yet not, something that crept and lurked in shadows, both hunted and being hunted. Something filled with indescribable hunger- dark hunger and rage, and wildness, something cunning and beast-like, animalistic, and yet… not. Sentient.

Something dark, searching, hungry, craving for something, something desperate and hungry enough- evil.

And not just one.

Her eyes snapped open.

Gasping, she cried out, _"Fëanuldon, no!"_ But it was too late.

Something burst out of the bushes.

Snarling and wild, teeth like jagged rocks, eyes like pits of dark evil flame, twisted and hulking like an animal-predator, lurking around its prey, were orcs.

Estela was the first to react. She screamed.

It was not the instinct of a shieldmaiden, or a queen, but a mother.

She leapt forwards and screamed, pulling her son out of harm's way.

The orcs snarled and struck with their crude weapons.

Estela was unarmed. She was never armed when she was with her son. And these were his private gardens- how in Arda did orcs come to be here?!

She had no time, a crude iron blade struck close to her. She held onto her son tightly and rolled over on the grass.

"Stay there!" She barked at him.

She jumped up and grabbed the sword hilt of one orc, and used it to swing herself around and behind him. She twisted his arm, and caused him to kill one of his three companions, before twisting the arm further and kicking him to the ground, disarming him and slicing his back.

She turned her attentions to the other orcs. They struck clumsily, but Estela proved herself a fearsome fighter. As undefeated as her father, who had died thus.

She spun, confusing and bewildering them, and giving herself enough leverage to strike and strike hard. She disarmed another which she killed and with two blades in hand (although of far less quality to those she was accustomed to), she made quick work of the intruders and finished off the remaining orcs.

But then she heard something. A growling in the bushes and she froze.

The little boy's eyes were alight and wide.

Two eyes, red jewels from the pits of Angband emerged from the dark. Followed by a snout with a snarling mouth filled with teeth like razors. The hackles of the warg rose and it hunched its back, growling and snarling as it prepared to pounce on the queen.

Estela stood still.

The warg growled again, then pounced.

Estela let herself fall backwards, as far as possible, as she stuck the orc weapon up and into the heart of the warg.

Its eyes widened and the mouth grew slack, as the corpse fell off the queen's acquired blade, as she rose, a trail of black blood staining the grass and the iron.

Black as Sauron's blood- like the void.

She turned her wide, frightened eyes towards her son, and although her first instinct told her to rush forwards and examine him for any injury- which she would have- her pale face and wide, terrified eyes meant that her mind registered and remembered the fact that this little boy- her precious, beloved, priceless son- summoned the creatures formed from the depths of Utumno.

This was Sauron's master-plan- not merely a Ring, but the complete and utter annihilation of the elves from within. And from there, Middle-Earth.

Her son. Avanwion, _Son of the Forbidden_.

* * *

What happened next was a blur. She summoned the trusted guards and nursemaids and confined her own son to the boundaries of his nursery- and in fact, even had fed a spoonful of medicine to lure him into a deep, dreamless sleep, so he would be put out of harm's way- for himself, and for the others of Lindon.

Ereinion came as soon as he had heard. His face was white as he beheld his wife and son and heard the tale.

He groaned and sank onto the chair in the nursery.

This was his son. His precious only child.

It would kill him and torture him to do it, and every instinct inside him screamed not to do it- to keep him- his son, safe- safe with him and his wife. But even his beloved wife could not deny.

He should have never confirmed it- and named him Avanwion, Son of the Forbidden.

It would torture and wound the depths of his soul. Yet how did this little boy manage to overcome the barriers of Vilya and Narya's powers and cause four orcs and a warg to come into Lindon? And what next, as his powers get stronger and he grows? Will the power of the Three Rings protect him- and everyone else- from the darkness within?

There was no denying. There was no protection.

For himself, and for everyone else, his son had to leave Lindon. Even he and his wife cannot deny it any more.

This was more than a mere child.

* * *

The hammer clanged onto the red-hot blade on the anvil, as the Númenórean smiths worked away. Storm clouds gathered and brewed overhead, thunder crackled and lightning flashed.

The hills of Númenor were brown and black with dug-up soil, once rich and teeming with life, now only fires burned in the furnaces and braziers as the men pounded their hammers onto weapons and the torn trees dug up from the soil, were sawed and shaped, moulded into gigantic, monstrous ships.

The ghostly-faces of the priests had their eyes rolled inwards so only the whites could be seen. Their faces were smeared with blood and black paint- sap of the trees, mixed with ash.

They chanted inhuman words in the Black Speech of Sauron, as above, lightning flashed and thunder rumbled.

The screams of the slaves as the whips herded them into a great, monstrous temple with profane things smeared onto the walls, images of darkness, of orcs forming and human sacrifice appeasing the Dark Enemy of the World.

They were the only ordinary humans and Faithful left in Númenor by now.

Smoke poured from the summit of the Sacred Mountain- the Meneltarma.

And the screams could be heard as their throats were slit, or they were burned in the monstrous furnace, with the flames rising up like from the pits of Utumno and Angband- and soon Mordor.

The thunder boomed and lightning flashed once more, as darkness of more than just night, reigned on Númenor.

The king made his way into the square.

"Now is the time!" He shouted. "Brothers of mine- hear me! Now is the time we take back what is rightfully ours from the lies of the elves and the tyranny of the Valar!"

They roared and cheered, raising their swords or hammering them against their shields.

"And now!" Ar-Pharazôn called out. "We shall triumph over death and the immortals who rule us- we will take and rule over the lands of the Undying- _forever_!"

They started to chant, to bang their shields upon the ground, to stomp their feet and chant Ar-Pharazôn to lead them- a prayer for the destruction of the Valar and the elves.

Smoke poured from the holy mountain.

And the world would soon be theirs- Ar-Pharazôn believed. The new immortals, free from the clutches of the Valar, Maiar and elves. They chanted for death and destruction. They chanted for immortal blood. And they chanted for the world to be theirs- and Ar-Pharazôn and his advisor, smiled beholding the sight- the king swelling with pride, and Sauron with sly, evil glee that his plan was working- as the lightning flashed, the thunder boomed and rain started to fall, like the tears of the Ainur and the All-Father at what was to come.

* * *

"Now is the time," the king determined.

The ships were docked and ready to set sail. But this time, there were no Oiolairë branches, cut and hung onto the prows of the Númenórean ships to signify the friendship with Ossë and Uinen and to ensure a safe return, as was in the old days.

And though thunder rumbled and the clouds loomed ominously upon the edge of the sky, the Númenóreans took no notice as the king, Ar-Pharazôn watched, and they pushed the ship- his great ship the Alcarondas- out to the sea.

Now was the time. Now they took the Undying Lands- and become immortal, as is their right.

Now they will reign as kings over the earth.

And Ar-Pharazôn smiled as he beheld the sight.

Soon, the world will be theirs, he vowed. _His._ And immortality will be taken and the elves dare not challenge them or think themselves higher than them anymore.

And on board, he gave the order to sail.

The fleet, was over ten-thousand ships- as wood was plentiful in Númenor, prior to this. They had even torn apart people's homes for this purpose. Some were forced out and killed- others gave their homes willingly, as they believed they would soon have a new home in the Undying Lands.

And the ships, all such a great fleet of which the world has never seen, so much they dotted the sea it seemed, from one edge onto the other, all sailed westward, violating the Ban of the Valar and challenging the very might of Eru Ilúvatar.

* * *

"Now what do we do?" Estela looked up, her face numb, every part of her numb. Tears had long since fallen and streaked her cheeks. Her hair, like after the birth of her son, was unkempt and cloudy, hanging in strands around her face.

"What can we do?" Ereinion's back was turned and he faced the window.

They were both numb and silent. Ereinion then sank onto a chair, his face in shadow.

"He cannot stay here can he?" She asked numbly. "We have to let him go."

"Yes."

Estela swallowed, and saw that her husband's eyes were filled with agony and a grief-stricken anguish- like that of loss.

It was pain. Much too much pain to speak about and comprehend.

"Where will he go?"

Ereinion swallowed and struggled to keep his tears in check. "I spoke to Galadriel." He squeezed his eyes shut and his face twisted with indescribable agony. He forced them open again. "She speaks of the coming of five Maiar, sent from Valinor by the Valar." Estela's eyes widened. "It will be some time now, but perhaps they can help him, and succeed where we have failed."

She turned back to the front, not seeing anything.

"When will they come?"

"Not for a while. Not until this conflict is resolved."

She stood and faced the window, looking outside. Storm clouds brewed over the horizon. But there was light, seeping from underneath the dark clouds.

"But there is hope," Estela whispered. But the truth was, it wasn't much- just the hope of a hope.

"There is always hope," Ereinion said, coming to stand behind her, holding her form close as they stared out into the horizon in the Grey Havens.

Círdan had sensed something was coming and sent for them.

Estela walked through the hallways of Círdan's home, and thought to herself.

What will happen now- to her son- to all of them?

Her midriff gave a sudden lurch. She didn't like that. She wasn't feeling all that well.

But then it soon started.

It started as a light tremor.

On the western sea, Ar-Pharazôn felt a tremor, a shockwave, light as it was, rush through the waters. He frowned, but it soon turned into a scowl.

The Valar were trying to scare them off, he knew it.

The Great Armament kept sailing.

In the Grey Havens, Estela felt it. In Númenor, the Queen Míriel, stopped and looked up from her chair. The clouds were gathering. Darkening the sky, coming thick and fast towards Númenor, as if they were racing.

Somehow, she knew. Now was the time.

Only then did she remember what her father had said; if Númenor kept going the way it was going, then surely, this was the doom that approached.

Míriel rushed out of her quarters.

In the Grey Havens, the chairs started to rattle, the ornaments too, and the furniture started to shake.

A gold cup fell to the floor with a clatter, and the map- a tapestry that hung on the wall and showed the image of Arda, was torn in two. The split in the fabric happened to be on Númenor. It rent it from the face of the tapestry.

Very soon everything started to shake, and flip- literally.

Even the very floor was turned upside down, rolling and even the air it seemed was flipped.

There was a great groaning noise, as the earth moved and re-shaped itself, if everything was shaking, now it was spun and banged violently.

In Numenor, people screamed as they beheld the waves.

Giant waves, as high as the Pelóri rose and blocked out the light.

Ar-Pharazôn was the first to turn in Valinor when they landed, when one of his men yelled out, and beheld in terror, the might of the Ilúvatar, whom he doubted.

Now he knew.

And now he knew as the world shook, the horror of what he had done, and as the stones crumbled and the boulders and large rocks started to fall, only then did he feel fear of something other than death.

No one could tell which was up or down.

Now that the earth was being rattled violently and banged, and even the floor was rolling around, as was the very _air, _that they breathed and everything else, now Estela knew what was meant when the world was being changed.

Everything was turned, flipped, rattled and banged violently. Nothing was spared.

The world was re-shaped and moulded and hammered into a different shape rather violently, as was the air that they breathed. Everything and everyone banged as they turned as if they were hanging off a cliff and moved upside down, shaking, hammering, rattling and churning, like the waters of the world which rushed together, engulfing and turning the fleet, yet with not a drop spilt and wasted.

How everything rattled, shook and moved. How they turned. Now, truly now, was the world re-shaped.

How it was reformed

Estela could hear the screams of people and even the horses, terrified as they were turned and flipped upside down.

This was no mere earthquake.

By the end of that night, the world was changed.

You could hear the screams in Númenor, if you could hear it up close.

Men and women were screaming, running from place to place, trying to get where, they didn't know. Trying to grab something, but they fell, anyway.

In the midst of it all, a woman tore through the central place in Númenor, running in her torn silvery-grey gown, dark hair streaming behind her, a crown of golden blossoms in her hair.

Her grey eyes were wide as she discarded her shoes and started to climb.

People screamed. The ground shook and the houses broke. The temple of Morgoth had a great pillar crushing it from the roof, and turning it to rubble. Everyone screamed as they tore through the streets, their arms waving in the air. Searching for anyone, anything they could find familiar or to save them.

It was of no use.

And still the woman kept climbing.

She climbed the holy mountain, the Meneltarma, the daughter of Tar-Palantir, as the clouds darkened and then flew off as if in abandonment, and the world shook even further, and the waves rose high as the Pelóri of which her husband was trying to reach, and darkened the sky and people screamed when it left the island in shadow.

There they beheld their end.

And still Míriel, daughter of Tar-Palantir, climbed further, harder, higher, one last desperate step, one step more….

Until the shadow of a wave came, and swept her away…

And soon, the screams of men and women were swallowed, as the waters rushed through the streets and crushed everyone there was. And the waves as high as the Pelóri, rose higher and blocked the sky, and it's screaming people from the view of the world, as everyone and everything shook, and the waves took them all, taking them deep to the bottom of the newly-reformed world.

There the waves swallowed Númenor, and its people and its treasures, and its Great Armament, until all that was left were the ones who left, and the world was no longer flat, but rounded, globed. Forever, changed.

And there, in a single day and a single night the great island kingdom of Númenor was swept away from the world and became Atalantë- the Downfallen.

And the Lands of the Undying was swept away from the world for all time.

* * *

She doubled over, her grief wracked her body as it shook with her anguish and pain.

Her howls of pain and grief rent the sky, and threatened the very clouds which so mercilessly loomed over Númenor, into pity.

No one could console her- not even Maltariel. Or Fëapoldon. Or even Ereinion.

It was over. It really was over.

There really was no forgiveness. For despite the efforts of Tar-Palantir and Inzilbêth, to redeem their peoples and their sins, for despite her own attempts, she truly realised, there was no forgiveness. Not as a whole.

For if there was, would this have happened?  
Or was Númenor meant to be doomed as a threat? Did it really end- with _that_?

She shook and sobbed, so much agony and anguish she had borne over the centuries, and now to find out _this_.

Elros was close to her as she helped raised him and his brother. And now, his legacy- his hopes for mankind- all were shattered and crushed, swallowed by the waves which engulfed Númenor. Their legacy.

Now they were truly lost to her.

And she hiccupped, sobbing on the shores of the Grey Havens, as she mourned the loss of everyone she loved before. And of the doom of her son, which now seemed imminent- there was no denying after all. He really was cursed.

And the home of her birth was swept away forever more, from the face of this world.

But then a dream-like state settled onto her as they watched, she paused in her keening. And Estela, Queen of the Noldor, formerly princess, shieldmaiden, wife, daughter, mother, cousin and foster sister, rose and remembered the words of the Maia in her dreams.

_When all has calmed and the world is changed, come to me. Come to me in the forest of Nan Elmoth, just as your kinsman Thingol once did for Melian. _

_When your home seems beyind your reach and your child seems lost, come to me. _

Estela rose.

"I must leave," she said as if in a dream.

They all looked to each other, puzzled.

"I have been called- summoned by the Ainur and the All-Father has willed it to happen. Now I must leave."

* * *

Estela rode throughout the night, despite the insistence of her husband, with only Fëapoldon and Maltariel and a few other guards.

As one could imagine, it took a while to reach the forest of Nan Elmoth- even with the elves' speed, a few days and a few nights.

It was the dead of night when they reached the dark, forbidding forest, where once the great city of Doriath once stood. The meeting place of Elu Thingol and Melian, the birthplace of Lúthien called Tinúviel, wife of the mortal man Beren and the half-Maia daughter of Thingol and Melian.

Estela dismounted. Everyone watched her warily, wondering if she had become unstable.

"Here I must go alone. Stay here," she said.

They looked alarmed. "My lady-" Maltariel began.

"Stay here. That's an order." She said sternly. That was the first time she had spoken like that.

But this time she had to go alone.

She unbuckled her sword belt and let it fall to the forest floor as she walked forwards and disappeared into the dark of the trees and the night.

Estela walked and kept on walking.

She walked without knowing where she was going or where she was in the forest, but she kept on going.

If she passed through the ruins of Doriath, she did not see it.

She walked until she found a source of light.

_Is it the sun? _She wondered, but dawn had not risen yet, and there was no way one could easily see it from down there on the forest floor with such high trees.

"_Child. My child." _

She heard the voice spoken in her dreams.

She stood still. "Where are you?" She gasped.

"Here."

She found herself in a clearing face to face with the fairest being she had ever seen, along with her mother.

"My child." The Maia was female with hair as black as midnight, gleaming so highly, dark as it was, even the mere colour was shiny. Her eyes burned like stars, and her skin glowed as silver as Varda's crown and Telperion.

Estela gasped and fell to her knees on the forest floor.

"My child," the Maia said. "You need not fear me. For we have all heard your grief in even in the lands of bliss, and the Father has spoken thus. For I am Ilmarë, handmaiden to Varda, and I have heard your call."

Estela gasped again and was unable to move, except for shaking.

"Ilmarë?" She whispered.

"Yes, child." The Maia stepped forwards and pulled her up.

This was the Maia of love, music and beauty as well as pure starlight.

"My child." Ilmarë said. "How we have all heard your sorrows. How we have all witnessed and felt your pain. How we have yearned to help you, to take you back, to embrace you. But your time in Middle-Earth is not yet at an end, my child, and your offspring shall play a powerful part in the making of this world, and the battle between good and evil."

"But how can he play a part for the greater good?" Estela cried. Everything came spilling over. How could she take it- all of it- it was too much.

How did she carry on, save for them and most of all, the All-Father?

"How can he, my beloved child, be free when he is enslaved by Sauron's evil?"

"My child," Ilmarë said. Her beautiful face, too radiant for words, clouded over with sorrow. "There is nothing I can do for your son. He will be free when the time is right, but it is not now. Now I can only do for your daughter."

Estela felt her breath caught in her throat. "My what?"

Ilmarë's eyes glowed. "My child. You are with child. You carry a daughter within you. She too will play a part, as important as could be, for the survival of Arda. I can protect her as best as I can, and help her survive, without which she will be vulnerable to Sauron's dark power as her brother is, but will you accept my help?"

Estela looked up into her eyes, tears shining in the light of the Maia.

"Yes," she said instantly. "Save her. Save my child. Do whatever it takes- no matter what the cost. Please."

The Maia nodded.

Ilmarë drew out her finger and a needle. She pierced the tip, holding a vial of crystal beneath.

Gold drops of blood, glittering and shimmering like light and gold fell onto the vial below. She kept doing it, with numerous vials and once she deemed it satisfactory, she passed them to Estela.

"Drink them." She said. "With every day and night when your child still grows inside you. Drink and she will be able to survive and triumph, even without you or your husband."

Estela's eyes burst with tears of gratitude, shining as she took the first vial and drank.

There was always hope.

Sauron did not know of her child- and he would not be able to have her, no matter how he tried.

And with that, destiny as the All-Father ordained, would take a turn.

* * *

_**That was the most epic chapter I've put up so far- I think.**_

**_Yes, she's pregnant, and that was the Akallabêth, the Sinking of Númenor and the changing of the world, which resulted in it also being called Atalantë- meaning the Downfallen- Atlantis. You can only imagine how painful this must be for her- her father and uncle raised Elrond and Elros, and to have that ripped away, despite Tar-Palantir's best efforts. And yes, that line was inspired by Plato's writings, about how the island vanished in a single day and a single night. The line that the woman speaks when she held and threw the figure of Morgoth in contempt, is taken from the Shadow of Mordor game. Not every Númenórean was pleased with the changes in their home country. _**

**_And yeah, her daughter and son are going to play a very important- major in fact- part in the sequel to this. I know you want an AU where Gil-Galad lives and I can't make any promises or give any spoilers, but remember- the end is never the end- it's only what people say when they don't want to write anymore!_**


	38. Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Estela and the others arrived back in Lindon.

As soon as Ereinion heard the news, he abandoned whatever he was doing and ran out.

His eyes met hers when she arrived. Instantly he jumped to meet her, embracing her tightly in his arms.

"_Estela,"_ he whispered. "Estela."

Now he was whole again.

She held onto him. They would never be parted, but there were other things in this world.

She was calmer, he thought. More relaxed.

Estela was saved, if only for now.

She made her way and looked outside the large bay window in their private sitting room.

The sun was shining.

The sun in which Mankind were born.

She drank in its radiance, and it suffused her with a warm strength and a light, of which ageless immortals would not normally have.

How mankind lived. How did humans go on, despite being so vulnerable- to the elements, to disease, to the decaying of flesh and bone, and to death which was inevitable, even if one lived without grief or slaying? How did they go on- have the strength to go on, knowing that, one day, quite soon for the lives of the elves, their lives were to end?

Only strength- a strength which elves did not have. The strength which came from the sun.

Perhaps it was the memory and the thought about what the very first humans went through before they were risen to greatness and corrupted, which gave her strength. Perhaps it was the Maia blood she had ingested, and the strength and wisdom of the Maiar was infused within her. And her unborn child.

Ereinion watched behind her, observing his wife, in the light of the sun. Never had she looked more beautiful- the glow of the sun falls on her alabaster skin, which glowed so pale, gilding her and turning her into gold, her copper hair, especially with its gold streaks catches the light, and seems to burst into life, turning molten gold, the streaks running through the strands of the fiery copper hair and glinting, glimmering like she was touched by the Ainur.

Her beauty made him catch his breath, as her face turned. Her radiance, the light of the sun, the joy in her face and love was truly breath-taking. She was always the most beautiful woman he had ever seen- not even Nerdanel's statues, Fëanáro's creations and Míriel's tapestries could compare to this one wonder, this one creation that sprung from their glorious, powerful blood. The finess and delicacy of her bones, the glow of her face and eyes as she shone. And the smile she sent towards him.

He didn't know how he managed to pull himself together, but he did and took her in his arms. They kissed, long and deep and he and Estela gazed at each other with love, before Ereinion asked. "My love, what is it?"

"Love," Estela whispered. "I am with child again."

* * *

"Sauron has lost this battle, but this does not mean that he is gone forever." Irmo, Lord of Dreams and Master of Lórien spoke. The clouds parted up ahead in Taniquetil as the Valar held their Máhanaxar.

"He has fled Númenor," Irmo continued. "He will flee into the land he has established, wasted long ago, before Morgoth fell. And there, he will establish his kingdom. The land of Mordor. A barren desolate dry wasteland, where the very air is poison and poisonous ash clouds all. Where the only living thing is the bloated, accursed, foul offspring of Ungoliant."

"Until the orcs come," Námo boomed.

"And then what?" Vána spoke. "What then will Sauron do?" Estë asked. "He is not foolish enough to begin his invasion straight away. Is he too weak to begin the preparations?"

"No." Tulkas spoke. "He is not strong enough. But what he lacks in power, he makes up in cunning. The orcs are disbanded- destroyed in unity and purpose since the defeat of Melkor. They need a source of evil, to go on and have a purpose- they need a Dark Lord."

"Sauron," Ulmo boomed. His green eyes, like sea-light blazed silently. "He will gather them to his power- to be his strength- his weapon of choice. Them and more."

"Indeed," Manwë spoke. "And of the doings of the earthly beings we are forbidden to interfere."

They looked towards him.

"Those were the instructions we were given- unless they were conducting the Great Journey- and unless they are on Aman- their fate is not ours to interfere directly."

"And Ar-Pharazôn?" Vána questioned. "He still lives," she continued. "Will he remain thus, for all time?"

"Yes," Yavanna frowned. "What is the purpose of keeping him here, buried underneath rock and stone?"

"I would like to know that as well," Estë said quietly.

"And I," Tulkas spoke. "Why does he stay there, doomed for all time, when the fate of all men, even those with the blood of Númenor, is deemed to fade someday?" Nessa questioned.

Manwë looked grave. "I understand your concern, Nessa, but I cannot sway the will of our Father. It is He who demands thus."

"Indeed," Varda said. Her eyes burned bright.

They all turned to Námo.

He looked up from where his face was hidden in shadow. "The Will of the All-Father," he spoke. "Cannot be swayed. Ar-Pharazon and his men will remain in the Caves of the Forgotten, until the end of time- the Battle of All Ages."

Everyone fell silent on this and turned back from him.

"What is his purpose in the battle?" Nienna asked.

"That only the All-Father knows," was Námo's reply.

"But he must remain. And only the newest comer into this war may speak of the time that is to come someday- the ending of all days, the Battle of Battles."

Vairë had remained silent throughout the entire meeting, but her lips twitched into a smile. But Yavanna frowned and turned to Varda. "What is the purpose of sending Ilmarë, your companion to Queen Estela? You know that the Maiar are forbidden to match Sauron might for might."

"That may be," Varda replied. "But this will help her survive."

"What is to happen to Estela?" Yavanna insisted. "And Gil-Galad?"

Tulkas frowned and alarmed as well, he leaned forwards. "Yes, what is to happen to them?"

"Fate," Vairë finally spoke. In her hands she held a skein of threads. They might have been wool from its softness, or silk from its glimmering sheen and lightness, but the other Valar knew better.

"Fate will decide the course of their lives, as well as the lives of their children, as well as the world. "Only the Father may decide their fate."

* * *

Estela closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth of the sun. When had she last enjoyed it- well, never. But she would not go down that path.

She closed her eyes and enjoyed the warmth of the sun, and the feel of her husband near her.

"Love," Ereinion began. What had gotten into her? Since the last pregnancy did not end well, he was instantly wary and even paranoid. But her expression of such peace and serenity calmed him.

He was about to speak again, when Estela placed her finger upon his lips. "Hush," she whispered. She opened her mind and told him all that had happened within the forest of Nan Elmoth.

His eyes widened. "You can't be serious," he gasped.

"Is it true?" It sounded too unbelievable to be true.

"Yes, no matter what happens, our child will now survive." She felt the tears prickle her eyes and her heart threatened to burst out of her chest and she leaned against his chest and his arms held her.

* * *

Sauron was not destroyed. He reappeared in Middle-Earth.

So the Númenóreans failed in just about everything- humans would see their fate as an example- of what _not_ to do. At least he had taken his revenge.

Sauron held out his hand. The gates shook and shuddered, lurching open. The tall high gates, black as pitch.

Inside, a barren wasteland, blasted with ash from the wars and fires of Morgoth, was his new land.

_Mordor_.

And the Lord of the Dark Land beheld his dominion. He growled as he remembered the loss he had gained. At least the Númenóreans were humbled.

But there was no great power to be had.

Apart from the Rings.

There was no chance of gaining the Three. There was something there- a powerful magic which could not be lifted. Have they been hallowed by the Valar? Or more formidably, the All-Father?

But the other rings, the sixteen- he could deal with them.

The only problem was that Celebrimbor hid them away, in Eregion. The three were safe in the hands of Gil-Galad and his kin, but the sixteen.

And Sauron smiled, the slightest bit.

But there was something else troubling him. No doubt the great High King and his pesky shieldmaiden queen would wreck chaos upon him.

Gil-Galad was legendary- he could destroy anyone and anything he desired, and nothing could ever stand against him, and hope to prevail.

Estela was equally destructive. It seemed every time she twitched her finger, everything chaos was unleashed. And Sauron, Dark Lord as he was, did not like chaos, especially if it was working against him. She did more damage with a finger-twitch than Morgoth did against his enemies in his day.

If she had been older, and her father had been wiser, he should have allowed her to fight against them. But then again, where did she get her undefeated and unstoppable, devastatingly destructive skills? From her father.

It seemed to take Sauron centuries to capture him! Then what was he to do, now that his daughter and the son of Fingon, the Valiant were free?

Of course, now Sauron understood what a fool Morgoth was. After all, he would have been nothing- _nothing_\- without Sauron. And yet, he did not take Sauron's advice and provoked the Valar to coming against him. Big chance they had, to defeat them all.

Sauron had to endure the intense humiliation of prostrating himself before Eönwë, Manwë's lap-dog, he thought scathingly, and repented publicly, whereupon the herald ordered him to submit himself before the Máhanaxar and the Mercy of the All-Father.

Excellent, well, Sauron thought bitterly, there was no chance of that. So he fled and hid, cowering humiliatingly for centuries, and what does he do when Morgoth returned? Oh, well, no less than embrace him and welcome him back! Well, look at him now, Sauron thought bitterly.

Of course he couldn't pretend he didn't want the Valar to attack the Númenóreans for him! But what a fool he had been once, to risk everything for a master who thought himself invincible, and although he might have seemed indestructible, he was certainly arrogant enough not to have thought of a single plan in case anything went wrong. The Silmarils! Who in Arda suggested him to get _those_?

Sauron scowled and let loose a threatening growl. _Finwë!_ Who told Morgoth to kill him anyway? He should have saved himself the trouble and them all the trouble of being attacked by the Sons of Fëanor!

And now there was a granddaughter to deal with!

Did Morgoth even know what he was getting himself into? No, of course not! Sauron could have snorted. What a fool. And to think, that he had served him so loyally. No matter, there was nothing he could do about it now. Morgoth was dead. And now, Sauron would rise and succeed where Morgoth had failed, as the new Dark Lord of the earth.

But he knew it would be a while until his 'son' would be ready- to take his place as the cause of the destruction of the elves.

_Why did I let Númenor go like that?_ He fumed. It was like something Morgoth would do.

But he could wait. He could bide his time and wait and gain in strength, if Morgoth taught him anything useful, it was that.

And then he would reclaim the Rings.

Besides the blood of Númenor were going to be the end of him, anyway, if they persisted.

* * *

A rider galloped into Lindon's royal palace's courtyard.

He dismounted, the elf wearing a travelling cloak, dusty from travel.

Estela received him. Upon meeting him in the courtyard, she gasped, her hand over her heart as she beheld him for the first time in so long.

"Vorondo!" She gasped.

She had last seen him at her wedding. She had been told he needed to leave and she tried to stop him, but she allowed him to go.

She was unbearably glad to see him. Her eyes filled with tears as she beheld and embraced him.

"I was told the world had changed. And that you had a child while I was away." He said as she pulled away.

Estela swallowed. "Rumours. But I am with child now."

He regarded her in silence, before saying, "Then I am glad for you."

They walked together in silence.

"So much has happened," Estela said, breaking the silence.

"Indeed." Vorondo replied. "I had hoped…" he was silent.

"What?" Estela turned towards him. "What is it, Vorondo? Why did you disappear? I feared and prayed for you every night."

Vorondo sighed. "I know you did."

"Will you stay?" She asked pleadingly. "How long will you stay?"

He looked at her. "As long as you want me to."

She kissed him on his cheek.

Slowly, the cities and realms of Gondor and Arnor rose in Middle-Earth.

Out of the ashes of loss and defeat, they rebuilt anew.

This was the chance the All-Father had given them- to be better, to do a better job at living this time.

And they would not waste it.

The gleaming cities of marble rose and so did hope.

Not all was lost.

And Celebrimbor, the Ringmaker, sighed and allowed the hammer to fall from his hand. He covered his eyes in the agony of regret and anguish. His wife came and touched his shoulder. She pulled herself to him, and he felt her love, and her presence.

They had each other. That was all they needed.

Love and each other, to give them strength and courage.

Love was more than enough to endure.

Estela slept and somehow it was peaceful. Her dreams did not trouble her. She did not recall ever sleeping so well for so long. Always many things kept her up. Or else, nightmares haunted and tormented her. Not now.

Far away, Sauron opened his eyes and growled.

Nothing could touch her.

There was something there. Something that blocked her from his view. From his point of view it looked like…. _Light_.

But no, that was not possible. Surely after all those centuries and everything that her family had done, the Valar and Maiar would have surely abandoned her? Why show their faces now, after so much? No one did anything to help her then, during the War of Wrath, why now?

It was not possible. But either way for the time being, Estela was untouchable.

Sauron growled, louder than before.

But at least, he had time.

And he already took her son. So what was there to lose?

Let them think that he had perished within the waves that engulfed Númenor. He will wait and build up his strength. He was good at that.

So for the time being, Estela was untouched.

* * *

Estela saw the face of her husband as she woke and smiled at him. He smiled back, and it looked like he was shining from within. With pure joy and relief.

"_Melmenya_," he said softly. "You're awake."

"Yes," she responded. "I'm awake. And my strength has returned."

Ereinion sighed and rolled over to his side.

"We should not tell anyone you are with child." He said with a finality.

Estela looked grim. "Agreed."

He rose. "Perhaps the dawn will bring us new things."

"Perhaps," Estela agreed. She was silent for a while.

"What is to be done with our son?"

Ereinion was silent too, as he faced the large window- the curtains having been opened.

Golden light filled the whole place, but Ereinion saw none of it, and stood silently in thought.

"He cannot stay here," he said pain in his voice. Estela swallowed and kept silent. Yes, she knew he was right.

"Where shall he go?" She asked. "The Maiar you mentioned-"

"Will not arrive for some time yet," Ereinion finished. "So we must send him to wait somewhere. Lothlórien perhaps. But no, that will not work. He must be in isolation. For his own safety, and those of others, now that we know what he is capable of, he cannot be left alone, and with others who are vulnerable. Every day, his power grows, and soon not even Vilya, Narya and Nenya will be enough to hold it back."

Tears streamed from Estela's eyes. "Will he ever be free?"

Ereinion's shoulders slumped. "That I don't know. But there's always hope. Perhaps if we send him to the Undying Lands…"

Estela sat up suddenly. "Why don't we?" She demanded. "I've spoken to Artanis. She says that elves will still be able to reach there, if they travel the Straight Road, through the horizon and across the starry waters and skies of Ekkaia. They will heal him, I know the Valar will."

But then again, apart from the visits of the Maiar, encouraging her to go on the path she was taking, did the Valar ever speak to her? Why should they want to? And what of the Noldor and Teleri- and even the Vanyar on Valinor? Will they welcome her child? A tainted person, and when immortals lived, their memories were long- Morgoth would not have been forgotten, and the damage he and his Maiar wrought upon everyone's lives…

Not to mention Arafinwë would be sitting on the throne in Tirion right now, Estela remembered. And Eärwen, Galadriel's mother, and her grand-aunt. How will they react to such traumatic memories? It might not be right to blame a child, but this child was tainted by the evil that might only be cured by Eru Ilúvatar.

But then again, could they afford to wait, and let the darkness within their son grow stronger?

"Send him to Valinor," Estela said suddenly. She looked down. "We have to let him go."

Ereinion turned to her suddenly.

She swallowed. "Estela," he began gently. She shook her head vehemently. "No, I understand what needs to be done. I understand that as a mother I want to keep him close, forever. But I also understand that I will be doing him no favours, no saving of any kind, if I let him stay here, on Middle-Earth. We cannot wait for the Maiar."

He watched her for a very long time, before he looked down, and swallowed. "Very well."

"Just give me some time with him," she pleads. "Spend some time with him as well."

Ereinion nodded. "It will be as you say." He left the room.

* * *

"_Amil_, where are we going?" Fëanuldon asked. His lips pursed, as he was helped into his riding cloak- sturdy materials, comfortable, and of fine make, but strong, durable, water-proof, warm in winter and cool in summer. It was a material of her own invention. She pinned his cloak with a brooch. She held his leather boots out, and told him to step in them, and to stomp them down.

"Are they comfortable?" She asked her son.

The boy nodded, his lips pursed further. The leather was cushioned with soft wool inside, and was of high quality, not merely the look and feel of it, but also the durability. Elven shoes do not wear out the same way human ones, and even the ones of dwarvish make, did.

Estela took a comb and combed her son's hair. She had given him a bath, and washed his face and teeth prior to this. Estela was silent for a long time, and the boy grew frightened.

But she had little comfort to give him.

She placed the comb down.

Estela touched the brooch.

"Do you see this?" She asked her son.

The boy nodded. She fingered the brooch's crest.

"Your father's crest is a field of stars on a blue field, like midnight. But mine is the one of my father's and his father's before him. We are a proud house, Fëanuldon. But I admit, that pride often caused us to fall to sorrow."

She paused.

"The symbol of our House is the eight-pointed star." She continued. "The greatest warriors, feared by evil, undefeated by them, and unbent before them, wore this star. And now, I pass it onto you, my son."

She rose. The little boy touched the brooch, now mesmerized by its meaning and craftsmanship.

"The satchel." She passed the satchel to his bodyguard.

"My friend," she said, her voice breaking. "You I trust above all others to do this. To Valinor the Blessed, so evil can be purged and cleansed from this world and this boy. Save him, please. Save my boy, I beg you, not as a queen, but as a mother."

And the warrior looked at her, saw the tears in her eyes and nodded.

His name was Artaro.

"Mother?" Fëanuldon's voice sounded frightened. It was heartbreaking.

"Go," she told him. "And remember always, Fëanuldon, I love you, _Yonya_, no matter what happens, no matter what comes next, I love you, and I will never stop loving you, even if I die. Even if I suffer the Doom of my fathers. I love you and all I do, I do for the ones I love, even if I must suffer and die in the most heinous of ways, than I shall. And I do this for you, Fëanuldon, so to protect and save you. I love you- forever. Infinitely more than my own self."

"Mother," now there was panic in his voice.

"Go," Estela could not meet his eyes. "Go and say farewell to your father. He is waiting for you in the other room."

"Mother!" Now there was panic and fear, and a desperate helplessness that threatened to shatter her in over a million pieces. She choked back a sob and fell to her knees, as Astaro pulled him away.

"Mother!" He screamed. _"Amil!"_ He reverted to Quenya, but Estela did not see him through eyes blurred with tears. She broke and wailed, sobbing and howling her heart to the Heavens as Fëanuldon was led- no, _dragged_\- away.

* * *

Sauron closed his eyes. If he could not sense the mother, what if he could no longer sense his son? If there was something protecting her, there was likely something protecting him as well. And if he was protected from Sauron's gaze, then…

Then there was no chance of victory. Not without the Rings of Power. Not without Celebrimbor to create the Ring he desired. Not without Avanwion, his son, to bring death and destruction to Middle-Earth and lead his armies of chaos to victory.

He had to act fast.

The orcs were regrouping. The trolls were being awakened deep underground and prepared for war. In fact, new orcs and trolls were emerging.

New war machines, faster and deadlier than ever before, were being finished. The remnants of the King's Númenóreans that didn't die in the sinking of their island nation, also flocked to him for strong leadership. Dark Númenóreans, they renamed themselves, to set them apart from the _Elendili_.

The army was nearly ready. But the boy was needed.

And the Rings- including the yet-unmade One Ring.

And so Sauron set his mind on his most terrifying plan yet.

* * *

Fëanuldon departed. As no one even knew that the High King even had a son, apart from rumours, no one gave a ceremonial farewell and blessing.

Instead, the boy left, with only a few guards, fewer than those elves who travelled to the Grey Havens to go to the Undying Lands, would have. The High King and his wife could not risk any more lives than necessary.

Perhaps that was a mistake. Or perhaps that was wise.

But that was the last anyone had ever seen or heard of Fëanuldon, the son of Gil-Galad and Estela.

As one can easily imagine, with his parents believing he had gone onto the Grey Havens and nothing being discussed out of the pain of it, and out of the secrecy that was needed to protect the boy, no one ever knew what became of Fëanuldon until it was too late.

In Eregion, Celebrimbor knew the time had come.

The armour were ready, the smiths working away at the weapons' finishing touches. The Sixteen Rings of Power, safely hidden.

Or so he thought.

While they hammered on, somehow, Celebrimbor, son of Curufinwë, knew that his time was soon up.

* * *

_Months later…._

The pains were mild. Nothing like the pains felt by humans. Nothing like what she had gone through in her first labour.

So, no one else was there. Ereinion took her arm, and led her, as they walked around the room.

Finally she stopped, and allowed herself to be lowered on the bed.

With pillows propped beneath her, Estela pushed.

Suddenly she heard an intake of breath. A new voice.

Ereinion's gasp sounded throughout the room. "A girl," he whispering, breathing the new scent in. "A beautiful, perfect girl."

_Our girl._

Our girl.

Tears shimmered in his eyes, spilt, the way it rarely ever did.

So much love and joy within, threatened to overwhelm and overflow all. His tears shone and flowed unchecked, as hers, as he handed her, the new life, wriggling and breathing, her eyes opened- the _miraculous new life_\- to her mother.

And his heart would have broken and spilt over with the love and happiness in their alone.

That was how they both felt.

Tears spilt from Estela's eyes as she beheld her beloved, miraculous, treasured- priceless even- adored little girl. So perfect and precious, so miraculous it was, that she merely took breath, and so amazing that she only stared. And especially when she saw how breath-takingly, impossibly, ineffably beautiful her child was.

The little girl was the most shockingly beautiful thing she had ever beheld. She had said it, about her mother and Ilmarë, but now she must say it for her own child. She was so pale, her skin glowed silver-white. They glowed so amazingly bright, she might have been made from the light of Telperion. Her hair, by sharp contrast, was so deep and rich a black, even the mere colour was shiny. Her features were the most delicate, yet the most perfect she had ever seen. Not a single flaw, anywhere in her heart-shaped face- a tiny delicately-upturned and tapered nose, a small, lush, rosebud mouth in rich deep soft red, and a hint of high cheekbones. Her eyes were a wonder. They were stars. Her beloved, precious, priceless little girl. They were so richly-coloured, so bright- violet, like Estela's own mother. She seemed to literally shine, and that took Estela's breath away, as well as her beauty.

Tears rolled over and spilt unchecked from her very eyes, as she beheld this lovable, wonderful, amazing, awesome, miraculous wonder- this amazing, astounding, perfect beautiful child. The one wondrous thing that would live and go on, even after she was gone.

The truest, most amazing and wonderful, fulfilling gift, the All-Father and the Valar had given her. _Them_.

She felt Ereinion come from behind her, and wrap his arms around both of them, kissing the child's head, and blessing her.

"What shall we name her?" Estela whispered.

He looked up, tears still in his eyes. The relief, the joy, the love- everything was too much.

He took a deep breath.

"Elenñaltë," he said. Star of Radiance.

"Similar to your name," She said in surprise, "Gil-Galad." He looked at her in surprise.

"I'd forgotten that," he admitted. Then they both laughed. "But it suits her more than me, if I must say so in all honesty.

"What shall you call her?" He asked his wife.

Estela regarded her daughter.

"There is only one thing that I want more than anything for her. I know she has a destiny, but there is one thing I want from her. To be happy, safe and loved. She has more than enough beauty. But I want her to be loved."

"So what shall you call her?" He asked the mother.

"Vanimelda." She replied. "Beautiful _and_ beloved. Let her not go through life alone, without love. With love, everything can be endured- and won."

"On that, I agree with you," and he nuzzled and kissed them both and held them close.

Nothing could spoil the joy of this day.

The love and happiness, the pureness of it- and the relief.

But their son was not here.

* * *

**_Once again, I thank _Merin Essi ar Quenteli_ for the Elvish names! _**

**_The reference, Dark Númenóreans, applies to what the Tolkien texts called the Black Númenóreans- the one that left their nation before its downfall, but I don't call them Black Númenóreans, as it's racist and anyway they aren't actually black in terms of dark skin- most of them appear really sallow and pallid. _**

**_Vanimelda is an immensely important child, as you might have guessed. _**

**_Sadly, she will not meet her elder brother until centuries later. Fëanuldon's part in this story has ended- but you'll see him in later sequels. I'm not giving away any spoilers. But there is joy for now. _**

**_P.S Sorry for the length of the last chapter!_**


	39. Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Thirty-Nine

"Announce the news," Gil-Galad said, his eyes shining. The councillor's eyes were bewildered. No, for safety reasons, especially after the last pregnancy, they kept this one a secret.

"The Queen has given birth to a daughter."

Shock filled the councillor's features, pure and complete shock as he stared at the High King to distinguish whether this was a joke of some kind. It wasn't.

Still staring, the councillor turned and fled, but not before throwing one last bewildered look at Ereinion. It was a good thing, that with heightened senses like all elves, he could not trip.

Ereinion stared for a while, before coming back inside.

Estela lay in bed, pillows still propped up behind her, stroking the baby's hair and watching with entranced love, the mesmerized awe that only new mothers can have.

This child was a gift. And she did not need to look at her violet eyes, shining like stars themselves, richer and brighter than amethysts, to sense the light from within the child's _fëa_.

This child, though beautiful and probably renowned for it later on, was safe. For now. And no matter what happened, her girl would always remain alive and safe- she hoped. But she knew no matter what actually happens, her child will survive. Even as her destiny- a powerful, and important one according to the one who promised her safety and survival- was written out in the stars above that shone as if they were celebrating- Estela whispered to her daughter.

"It will not touch you," she whispered. "The darkness will never touch you, you are safe, and treasured- beloved, little one- more than you will ever know."

The child gazed at her with those eyes as if she understood.

Heart overflowing with love, she tenderly brushed the black hair away from her delicate forehead. It was so wonderful, so overwhelming, so powerful, awesome and intense this feeling of love and awe for her little child, it was impossible to know it, unless one had been in that same position.

Vanimelda stared at her mother with those wise, knowing, yet innocent eyes. Estela kissed her head, and breathed in her scent, nuzzling her tenderly.

Awe and love itself were two of the most astounding emotions one could ever have, least of all for one so tiny, yet so precious.

Amazingly enough, people accepted the news that Gil-Galad had a daughter. But Estela wondered if they should keep her existence a secret- for her own safety.

But no, this child should grow and flourish in the light, as all children, especially this one of light, should. As her brother, should have done.

She seemed to glow in the light and the dark. How unbelievable. Elves reflect starlight on their skin, hair, eyes and even clothes, but this child seemed to _be_ light itself.

It's the Maia blood, she thought fearing and worrying for her child.

Sauron was not gone. No one knew how many people he had fooled, but he did not fool the parents of this child.

This child, she was warned, would be half-Maia. Like Lúthien daughter of Thingol and Melian, but hopefully, although she will be beloved, she can amount to more than just a tragic end.

This would not be a wasted life, like her kinswoman.

But a chill swept through Estela, as she beheld her child's ineffably lovely face. She was related, she realised. To all of them. Itarillë or Idril. Finduilas, daughter of Orodreth. And Lúthien.

The love and protectiveness she felt over this child, especially after losing the first, was enough to shatter her heart and spirit all over again. To fill her to overflowing. To die and kill for. To go and do anything for- even something as horrendous and abominable as kinslaying, blasphemous and abominable as it was.

Surely she was destined for more than a tragic and romantic end.

Vanimelda will be more, she vowed.

She would survive and live.

But a shadow crept over her heart as she thought of her son.

* * *

The _Essecarmë_ went ahead. Estela was clothed in lustrous emerald silk, embroidered with silvery diamonds and adamants, trimmed with gold to match her robe, a circlet of _mithril_ and adamants on her head. The little princess was wrapped in a gown of exquisitely beautiful silks and lace that her mother especially made for her naming ceremony. Estela smiled as she felt the overwhelming love and protectiveness yet again, but her heart broke at the thought of her absent son.

She had indeed been broken-hearted when he left. And she still loved and missed him, and thought about him, even then.

But at least, she thought, he was better off.

But what about this one?

What danger would she be in, Estela thought, anxiety and fear twisting her soul, if Sauron should discover her existence? He would seek to destroy her, she knew. And he would not stop until she is destroyed.

An icier fear had never gripped her insides as she twisted the cloth of her gown, though it did not crease. _Her child!_ Her priceless, only daughter! Estela had already lost one child, did she have to lose another? She couldn't bear it, couldn't think about it.

Out of all the races of Middle-Earth, though Sauron hated the Dúnedain (the _Elendili_ started calling themselves that again), it was the elves he hated the most, just like Morgoth. And out of all of the elves, it was the House of Finwë whom he loathed above all else. The House of her Ereinion Gil-Galad- and Estela.

This left Vanimelda, daughter to the High King, the son of Fingon the Valiant- whether one believed her was fostered and adopted by Fingon or was Orodreth's true successor- the acknowledged heiress of the Noldorin monarchy _and_ the powerful House of Fëanor, as the only inheritor left on Middle-Earth, apart from her cousin Eleniel and Celebrimbor. Elrond's family- and Galadriel- did not count- they were not inheritors, though they shared blood.

So with ice filling up inside her, the fearful mother concocted a plan, in case the worst came to pass- it was a harp.

Estela finished building a large harp in secret. It was massive, although it was bigger than it actually seemed, and it was hollow inside. Big enough to fit a small child- a baby or toddler, really- to hide Vanimelda.

The only problem was, to get someone to keep her safe, at all costs.

But as Estela came out to the Great Hall carrying Vanimelda, she noticed someone.

_Vorondo_.

Vorondo drank from a goblet as Estela watched him, and she knew Vorondo was a minstrel, and utterly loyal to her. So just one last favour- just one. She prayed to the All-Father that Vorondo would accept and love, protect and care for this child like his own.

"Congratulations on the begetting and birth of a daughter," Ereinion turned sharply to see Celebrimbor. His face was subdued, pale and haunted. Ereinion's brow furrowed and he looked concerned.

"Thank you, cousin." Celebrimbor let out a heavy sigh.

"I heard about…" The silence spoke enough. "I'm so sorry- like nothing I've ever been sorry for."

"It's not your fault," Ereinion began, but Celebrimbor shook his head.

"You created the Three," Ereinion said. "If that didn't happen, who knows how much worse it might have been?"

"But I spoke with him," Celebrimbor's eyes, every bit as bright as Ereinion's but paler, was clouded in self-blame, misery and darkness. "I agreed with him. Estela was right. I, the grandson of Fëanáro, should have known better."

He scoffed and drank from his goblet.

"And yet I did not it. And there is no excuse for such stupidity- especially as if that stupidity leads to other things."

Ereinion's eyebrows rose. "Nothing's happened."

"Yet." Celebrimbor drank again.

"The Sixteen are hidden away. But I sense that Sauron draws near. We know that he isn't destroyed, no matter how many people might think that."

"So, when the time comes we shall be ready for him," Ereinion said with a finality.

Celebrimbor looked at him without breaking any emotion. "Yes."

They watched the celebrations in silence. Estela, her cousin noted, was talking to Vorondo. He hadn't seen him in ages.

"I've placed everyone in danger," Celebrimbor said quietly. "My daughter, my wife, my cousin who is more like my sister, you the High King- every elf, human and dwarf in Middle-Earth, if not all of Arda."

"Don't," Ereinion said in a warning tone. "How is Eleniel?" He asked him, hoping to change the subject. He also enquired about Silmiel.

It worked- for a while. Such dour things were not discussed for the rest of the day.

* * *

So the celebrations went on, and meanwhile the storms brewed in Mordor- not a single beam of natural light seeped through the skies above it. The orcs grunted and fought with one another. The volcano rumbled and spewed lava.

The spider lurked in her caves, devouring her victims.

And while the lava roared and burst, rising higher than before, Sauron his eyes glowing orange-gold like the lava, his pupils slits, observed in silence.

And soon, the swirling black hair, like silky smoke, the slim face with its chiselled features, even the eyes, disappeared. In its place was a huge figure covered in iron, a helm of iron covering his whole head, with spikes rising from within, and a mace by his side.

And somewhere the Valar and Maiar observed all.

"It is ready." Vairë proclaimed. "Or very nearly."

They watched from Taniquetil.

Manwë observed all in silence. His kingly face, was shrouded in sorrow at what was to come. He bowed his head.

Beside him Varda Queen of Stars saw all. Her stars shone in the dark of the sky, celebrating the birth of the child they had been waiting for. And waiting to guide her along the way.

Oromë looked grim, but Tulkas looked at him and both knew that everything would be fine in the end.

They all watched.

Irmo and Námo looked at each other. Nienna fingered beads, counting the time silently and the tears she would have to shed for all.

Estë whispered things into the night. Manwë said, "It is time to prepare."

* * *

Vanimelda slept, tired after a long day. Her mother gently rocked the cradle.

"How was it?" Celebrían asked.

Estela choked back on the pain. "Nothing like the first," she said, thinking of her son.

He was gone. How far away was he? What was he doing now? All those things tore at and haunted her, and she wanted desperately to know.

"How do you deal with the fear?" She asked as if from a distance. "And the worry and the knowing that your child's life is written out for them, on the stars? How do you deal with knowing that someday…"She couldn't continue.

Celebrían touched her hand. The warm touch sent Estela back to reality nursery and she kept rocking the cradle. It was warm, and comforting and bright, this place she had chosen for her baby.

She was speaking of both children, Celebrían knew. Estela had far too much to deal with in her life- enough was enough surely?

No, it was more than enough.

The bassinet was silver, embossed with ornate buds and flowers, and flowing stems, with a canopy above it. The sheets were silk embroidered with pearl beading. This child had been declared the heiress of both parents- something which her brother never had due to the darkness inside. Estela was glad- overjoyed and relieved for her daughter as a matter of fact. But she knew it would place an impossibly high price on her daughter's head and she would die in the most torturous ways to prevent that. Her son had lived his life in the shadows, deprived of a life in the light, like he should have. He was never even blessed in an _Essecarmë_.

As far as anyone was concerned, he never existed. Was this how he was meant to live out his life? Estela wanted to shout. As if he were nothing, or something fouler than a disease? What about her daughter? Would she risk a life in the light in order to be captured, tormented and killed? Was that her end? How was she supposed to live?

But she should be down on her knees, thanking the Valar and the All-Father of the gift of new life. Not this. But the worry and fear of a mother…

_Was this how my mother felt? _

Still, Vanimelda slept on. Estela sighed. She didn't want to be ungrateful. Whatever will happen, is in the hands of the All-Father and the Ainur who guide her. And for that she was impossibly thankful. Like her son, though, the rush of love, fear and protectiveness was overwhelming, and thus unbearable. Like with him, that powerful well of tenderness caused tears to rise hastily to her eyes. And her heart threatened to break from the pureness and force of it. How was this _possible_?

_Let her enjoy peace for now._

* * *

The months passed. Little Elenñaltë Vanimelda grew. Although her body grew slow, her development was faster than even most elves that age.

Estela sat in the garden bench as her daughter picked a few blooms and some interesting rocks and eagerly handed it to her.

She tried, but failed to keep the smile from growing on her face.

"_Seldë_," she addressed. "What have you got there?"

Vanimelda, or Melda- that was her _epessë_ and it simply meant Beloved which was also a form of endearment- passed her an interesting rock.

"A snail is in the rock!" She cried. The precious, beloved, sweet little treasure.

Estela blinked. She bent down and picked her precious little girl up.

"That was a real snail," she said. "A long time ago. Then it died, and it became covered in mud. Then over the millennia, the mud hardened and became rock. The body is gone, but the shell can still be seen- at least the imprint of it in the rock."

The little girl, more precious than the dawn, looked up with her with wide, solemn eyes and nodded. Estela gave her a kiss. "Keep it." She said. "It's mortal?" Vanimelda asked.

Estela looked startled, at her little girl. Since when did Vanimelda know about mortality and immortality just yet? But then again, she knew about death, and she knew that one can be killed with swords, knives, daggers, spears and arrows. And fire. But she did not tell her daughter that humans eventually grew old and died, whereas elves remained.

"Yes, it's mortal." She answered. "Like humans?" The little girl asked again.

"Yes, my sweet Melda, like humans. But humans live longer than this little snail, and they're definitely smarter."

"But the snail's not like us," she replied. "And humans too."

"No, _Seldë_," she hugged Melda closer to her. Just the sweet scent and the feel of the little girl made her feel overwhelmed with love and tenderness- and comfort. She wanted to stay like this forever- the warmth, the love, the joy- she did not want it to change. But it would.

"Humans grow very quickly, but their bodies soon decay- their bones grow brittle, like glass, and their skin wrinkle and crease, and even mottles. Their eyes grow cloudy, their hearing weakens and their hair turns grey or white. They grow easier to feel cold, pain and heat, and well, everything else. Humans do not last forever, I'm sorry to say. I've had human friends."

Vanimelda looked at her mother solemnly, and stroked her cheek and stretched to give her a kiss.

"I'm sorry they're gone, _Ammë_." The little girl said. "I wish they are happy with Ilúvatar and the Ainur. I'm sure Námo of Mandos treats them mercifully, and kindly, for they did good deeds in their lives and their hearts are good. I love you, _Ammë_. Everyone does as well, and they want you to be happy."

Even more startled, Estela looked at the little girl. This was the first sign that her child knew more than everyone ever said. Of course she would have been taught about the Ilúvatar and the Ainur, including the Valar, but _how did she know so much?_

It was bewildering.

"_Ammë_, come with me," Melda hopped down and pulled her mother's hand. The sweet child tugged at her hand again.

"There are flowers here, like the ones Irmo has in Lórien."

* * *

Ereinion watched his wife and daughter play joyfully in the garden and smiled.

"She's very beautiful." Galadriel remarked. "Extremely beautiful," Celebrían said. "And delightfully radiant."

Ereinion sighed. "Yes," he said quietly.

"She shines with the light of the Ainur," Galadriel said. "It is hard to miss. Even though the ones who do not know it, sense that she is a special child."

Ereinion's shoulders slumped. "I know she does."

Galadriel looked at him concerned. "But she is still a child, though." Galadriel said. "And will remain a child for a while longer."

Little Vanimelda sat on a fountain's edge. Her locks were so rich and deep a black it glowed with gold and silver light, not actual coloured streaks like her mother, but the light was bright when it was captured in the silky tresses. Her skin was exquisitely fair by contrast, the purest silver-white that would make snow look dirty, and flawless. Her features were delicate and she had all the beauty her family had to give her in her face-and more. He saw Fëanor and Míriel Serindë in her face. And Indis. A different type of beauty, yes, but somehow complimentary and harmonious just the same. Aredhel was there too- even Galadriel was. And most of all Estela and her mother- the Telerin princess who married Maitimo son of Fëanáro.

But there was something- well, some_one_\- there as well, that was more than the House of Finwë could boast of.

And the horror and the terror struck him all at once. What if something were to happen to her?

But before he could continue in that line of thought, he noticed Vanimelda kneel down and pick a flower. He frowned. What was that? Now she had more than one flower. It was the new one, he realised.

It was strange, but soon after her birth, he noticed the strange new flower growing in such abundance all over Lindon. Lothlórien reported at having some as well. It was shaped similarly like a pimpernel, but even larger, and many of them shone and glittered pure gold, or shimmering, glowing silver. Like the sun and moon, Laurelin and Telperion. What was especially unique was that the flowers of different colours- both gold and silver- grew on the same plant. People claimed they first saw the plant sprouting and budding, soon after what Ereinion and Estela knew to be her begetting. Then the day she was born, everyone was outside, gathering as many of these flowers as they could when the announcement was made. It was seen as a sign- a miracle.

Like the Niphredil that sprung up on Lúthien's birth in Doriath.

Did they suspect? Surely they would not.

Ereinion's hand tightened around the window-pane.

Galadriel saw it.

"Ereinion," she said quietly. "Your daughter is safe. You must know that."

And still his hand tightened around the pane. He swallowed. "I know."

Outside, Vanimelda gave the flowers to her mother. "They're very nice," she said.

Estela smiled and took them, kissing her cheek. "Thank you, Melda."

Estela stroked her daughter's hair and sniffed the blooms. The heartrending and overwhelming feelings she had for her daughter was too much. The fear was unbearable.

How would her parents react?

"_Ammë_," Vanimelda suddenly asked. "Can you tell me a story?"

She smiled. "Of course, Melda, I can tell you a story. Which one would you like?"

"Your family," she said seriously. "Your Amil and Atar. Please tell me about them."

Estela stood, shocked into stillness. The colour drained from her face. But she supposed she would have to tell her daughter before she heard the stories.

She sighed. Going back to the garden bench, she motioned Vanimelda to come as well.

The little girl toddled over and her mother picked her up next to her.

"My parents…" She paused. "They were born in Valinor."

"The land of the Valar and the Maiar," Melda said in all seriousness.

"Yes," Estela sighed. "I was born there as well."

Vanimelda's brow furrowed as she frowned. "But then, how did you get here?"

Estela winced. "It's a long story and not very pleasant." She sighed.

The little girl looked sad and worried- but not for herself. She stroked her mother's cheek, lovingly. "Tell me," she coaxed.

Estela paused.

"My great-grandfather was Finwë." She said. "High King of the Noldor. Soon after the Awakening of the elves, of which I told you about, in Cuiviénen- do you remember the story?"

Vanimelda's eyes brightened and she beamed. "Yes, the one with Imin and Iminyë, Tata and Tatië, Enel and Enelyë."

"That's right," she pulled the child closer to her.

"When Oromë, the Vala and Master Woodsman arrived, riding on Nahar, he invited the elves to go to Valinor. Many of them were suspicious and afraid. So three elves were chosen to go with him to Valinor and see for themselves that it was a good land- and to lead the others who chose to came, there."

She paused.

"Finwë was chosen for the Tatyar- the second clan of elves. So he led them to Valinor. And there he married a maiden, named Míriel Serindë, who was the most gifted weaver."

"Like you," Melda exclaimed, delightedly.

"Yes," Estela said softly.

"And so they were happy together, and Finwë was made king. But soon after, Míriel bore them a son, whom the father named Curufinwë- the Skilled Son of Finwë. But Míriel called him, Fëanáro- the Spirit of Fire."

And so Estela told her the story of their family. Of the birth of Fëanor, of the death of Míriel, and of the Valar's decision in allowing Finwë to wed again- and of Fëanor's unhappiness in that decision. She even told the girl about Morgoth.

She told her daughter about Fëanor's skill- his gifts with, well, _everything_. And she spoke of his accomplishments- the Silmarils, the _Palantiri_, the Tengwar- and much, much more.

She told Melda about that fateful night, when Morgoth was released. And what happened afterwards. She told her of the disagreements, the fighting- the subsequent flight to Formenos. And of Finwë's murder.

The little girl learnt what had happened. Although Estela toned down the whole story considerably- she was only a baby after all, though she seemed so much more- Vanimelda heard all. She listened intently, not showing the slightest sign of interrupting or becoming upset.

She cuddled close to her mother and nuzzled her. "I love you, Amil," she whispered.

"I love you too, _Seldë_." Estela whispered back. Of course, she didn't tell her about her brother.

They stayed there quietly.

"Do you think they might have been remade?" Vanimelda asked suddenly.

Estela paused. "I don't know. Námo was not very happy with them."

She turned up to her mother. "But, they tried, didn't they? To make up for what they did?"

"Maybe," Estela sighed. "And my grandfather was sad and enraged. But it's never an excuse to get other people killed."

Melda paused. Then she pursed her lips. "What happened to Macalaurë?"

Estela was surprised. Vanimelda looked up at her. "You said that he went missing. Where is he? Is he still alive?"

Estela hesitated. "I… do not know. No one has neither heard nor seen Macalaurë since he threw the Silmaril into the sea and my father died."

"I'm so sorry, Amil," the little girl said glumly. At least she didn't cry. She was just glum. "I shouldn't have asked."

"No, I'm glad you did, _Seldë_." Estela hugged her close. "We need to remember the lessons of the past- the good and the bad, so we can do better ourselves."

"Do you miss them?"

Estela sighed.

"Who wouldn't?"

The little girl hugged her mother closer.

* * *

_The violet eyes shone as her mother worked. The Telerin Princess was no spoilt, pampered creature who was waited upon hand and foot, despite what some people believed._

_Nearby, Maitimo and Findekáno sparred._

_Little Estela watched with wide eyes, emerald like her father's when it didn't turn dark blue, as her little fat fingers curled around the bannisters. _

_Nearby, they increased their pace and the strength of their blows._

_Maitimo was so elegant, so hypnotic and precise, with no unnecessary flamboyance- nothing done to show off, nothing needed extra showing off, and nothing so _perfect_. Every turn and twist, every swing, every blow, strike and parry, so perfect, so _beautiful_. There was nothing beautiful about killing, but the way her father did it, was so breath-taking. It was more graceful, more elegant than a dance. More spell-binding, more awesome._

_And so Estela wanted to be just like that._

_Her father shone in her eyes. He always did, and always will. Even after so much pain and trouble she forgave him- how could she not? He was the most wonderful, kind and loving person. No one knew him, like she did. _

_And what a king he would have been, if not for the taint of kinslaying. _

_And she was able to say that without the bias of an adored, adoring daughter. _

_And so the match ended, with Maitimo's sword pressed against Findekáno's throat. _

_Findekáno grinned exuberantly, like Laurelin, and Maitimo let out a laugh that rang through the skies, as wonderful as his spirit. It was truly captivating. Everything shone. Was it her imagination, but as amusing as it sounded, did the birds take flight?_

_He lowered his sword and the two clasped the other's arm as they finished. Maitimo was the only one who could defeat Findekáno- Fingon the Valiant, as they later called him- in a duel. _

_Onlookers clapped and cheered. Her mother shook her head and failed to keep the smile from her face._

_Maitimo rinsed his face and wiped it with a towel. Grinning, he spotted the little girl whose eyes were wide and excited and scooped her up. Squealing, she found herself hoisted into the air, before he swung her around and planted a kiss firmly upon her cheek. _

_His wife sighed. "Come, now, Maitimo. Surely you've sparred enough? Besides, our little girl now wants to be like you."_

_Estela giggled. "And who can blame her?" Findekáno asked teasingly. "If she has half her father's skill…" he shook his head._

_Estela's mother shook hers. "No, don't you dare give her ideas, any of you. I can't have my child running off to _Endórë_, so she can have adventures. She shares her father's spirit."_

_Maitimo chuckled again, and kissed and cuddled her close. He attempted to kiss and hug his wife, but she dodged him. "Clean up before you do anything, Maitimo!" She said laughing. "More guests are arriving tonight!"_

* * *

Estela came back to reality. That laugh. That bright, unstained laugh. That wasted life- so many lives lost _and_ wasted. He did not laugh so often after the First Kinslaying, and after her mother died, he stopped.

How she longed for him. How she longed for him and her mother both.

The pain, love, fear and protectiveness she felt for her children- now she understood why her father locked her up in the room, just before going out to the battle he was sure he would not survive, rather than letting her fight. Now she understood why her mother faded when she heard the news that Estela and her husband had both died.

She could not stand the thought of it.

Estela looked out the window, seeing the light of the moon. Once again, they were staying in the Grey Havens.

She closed her eyes. The moonlight over the water- it stretched like a path of silver-white over the black water. As if it was the Straight Road, which elves now claim that was the only path back to Valinor.

Why hadn't she returned yet? Even if she could, she knew it was not her time.

And it would never bring back what was lost. She gave up on homesickness a long time ago. Home is where her family is. Her family was gone, as was her home, save for Lindon and the family she had now- and even that was fragmented.

What was he doing now? Her son? He must have gone that way-

_No._ She refused to think about that.

She let out a deep sigh.

The memory of her father's exuberant brightness, his image, his _laugh. _

_Er enyalin lalielya. Milyanyel Atar._

She turned back to her child. The little girl slept on.

She went over and watched her, with all the love, desperate longing and brief joy that a mother such as her could obtain, in what she sensed was a time running short. Like a mother wolf fiercely guarding and watching over her young.

Estela hoped her child would inherit something of her father's spirit- and her own father, of course. At least she will be able to go on in strength until the very end. How she loved her!

Estela leaned down and kissed the little girl's head, and stroked her hair lovingly in her sleep. Vanimelda slept on.

She prayed for it every night.

_I cannot bear to lose her. _

She'd already lost her son- every mother's worst nightmare- though not the way anyone would think.

* * *

"Sauron is not gone." Estela insisted.

Beside her, Elrond looked grimly at those assembled.

"You all know, he did not perish in the downfall of Númenor." Elrond said sternly.

"No." Estela remarked. "He is one of the Fallen- an Ainu, once, long ago, and still immortal. But not in the sense that we, the earthly beings are. He cannot be killed like this. He still lives."

"And he has returned to Middle-Earth." Elrond said sternly. There were gasps and murmurs across the room. "To the land which is now known as Mordor- a barren wasteland, left scarred by the remnants of the wars of Morgoth- his former master. He is building his armies."

"Sauron is no fool." Estela put in. "He will have learnt his mistakes. Númenor's downfall was what he sought all along- though he also learnt to use them.

"In his heart, Sauron knows that he can never match Morgoth in strength. He is no fool. But what he lacks in strength, he makes up in cunning. Morgoth made mistakes- mistakes based on his own pride, in strategic terms. Ask yourselves, who was it that gave Morgoth the idea of inflicting such damage upon the House of Húrin? And of the plan to capture my father, and countless others besides? Beren and Lúthien? The capture of Maeglin?" She frowned at them, while they stirred uneasily.

"Morgoth would have never reached half his strength were it not for Sauron."

"The Queen is right." Círdan said. "Already, do I sense his coming."

"My Queen," Artaner said hesitantly. "Perhaps, if what you say is true and Sauron indeed lives, then perhaps his stint upon Númenor has weakened him? Surely he cannot be well and truly ready to attack us now?"

"Perhaps not," Estela conceded this. "But expect it to come, and to come soon. We've waited long enough. So has he?"

"Where will he have gotten his strength?" Exclaimed Artaner.

"Orcs are naturally drawn to the strongest dark presence- naturally with Morgoth gone, that falls upon Sauron to lead them. You know after the fall of Morgoth, they were scattered. They started attacking and killing one another. Their numbers were dramatically reduced. If they weren't killed, then they died through starvation, illness, weakness of the body. They had no strength- no purpose with no darkness in the world to nourish and lead them. The orcs increased when Sauron returned to Middle-Earth, after centuries of hiding. And they have not decreased in numbers and strength now- we've had several orc attacks lately. This means, Sauron is still alive and out there."

Estela did not tell them that as the sickness was never cured from her son, also meant that Sauron still lived. After all, no one else knew.

Her daughter's life, and the lives of the few children born to the elves, were in danger as it is.

Estela was desperate to save them, even though she did not show it.

Outwards she was the calm, composed queen. The lethal shieldmaiden, perhaps. They could not see everything that had reduced her to the emotional wreck she had become inside.

"We need to start making alliances," Calassion said quietly. "Gathering supplies. Mustering the troops. Readying them for war. We have no time to waste."

"But they will want proof!" Another councillor exclaimed. "If we are at war, then our allies will want proof!"

"They will get it soon enough," Círdan said darkly.

Estela stole a glance at her husband. Throughout the course of the meeting, he remained silent. Unusual, but he was clearly in deep thought.

"Perhaps we shall work upon gaining proof," she said finally. "In the meantime, we must be wary and watchful, and I must ask this meeting to be adjourned."

Everyone muttered and nodded, and all started to leave. The shuffling and dragging of chairs, the rustling of clothes and low voices were all that was heard. They said their goodbyes to the High King and Queen before they left. Estela nodded, but Ereinion seemed barely there.

"_Melmenya?"_ Estela asked concerned. "What is it, what are you thinking?"

Ereinion shook his head, and straightened from where he stood.

He walked over to the window. Estela waited. She learnt never to be hasty when he was like this a long time ago.

"What is Vanimelda doing?" He asked her.

"I put her down for a nap." Estela said. She was aware of the irony of it, treating her daughter like an ordinary child, although she was so much more. But she _was _a child. Ordinary or not, let her have a childhood that was as normal and happy as could be, for as long as the All-Father willed it to last.

Ereinion nodded.

"You're worried about her," Estela realised. "We both are."

He grunted. "Aren't we all?" He turned to his wife and shook his head.

"It's no use. Sauron is still out there, but he's being clever. As you said, he won't make the same mistakes as last time.

And people in Lindon already know of our daughter. Was that wise? Our Houses both need a recognized heir. But if Sauron finds out."

"Ilmarë promised me he could never touch her," Estela said instantly.

"What about his servants?" Ereinion asked. "I can't bear it if anything were to happen to either of you," he admitted. He sighed. "It's not very admirable for a supposedly noble High King to admit his weaknesses and vulnerabilities, I know, but that's the truth of it."

Estela looked down, and stepped closer to him. "How do you think I must feel, Ereinion?" She hugged him from behind and he turned around and kissed her.

He breathed out a sigh and held her close.

"Someday, we shall all be together on the diamond-dusted shores of Valinor and the hills which are forever green." He murmured. "All four of us- and the ones we've lost."

Estela bit her lip. Her heart jolted in her chest, feeling like it was sinking _and _breaking. But her parents were gone, forever doomed by Mandos for the sins of the kinslayings. Nothing would ever be the same- even if the haunting memories of it were able to be overcome.

"I hope so," she said quietly, and pulled away. But she doubted it.

* * *

Such a beautiful day, Estela thought. It really was beautiful, the Grey Havens.

So beautiful it made her heart ache. The golden light of the sun touched and created a glow above such blue, clear waters, flanked by the majestic crags and cliffs that framed the horizon. The straight road where the elves sailed to go through to Valinor.

And it was not her fate.

Why after so much grief, did her heart and _fëa _not cry out for the sea? She wondered. Normal elves would have either faded, killed themselves or felt the urge to sail, by now.

Eluréd and Elurín, the sons of Dior… their bodies were never found. Was it possible that they faded? She was no judge on their sufferings, whether it was greater or lesser than hers, but they must have faded if their bodies were never found. It was unlikely orcs consumed them. Humans yes, and each other, but not elves. Orcs hated elves in all ways.

The white ships bobbed nearby, their exquisite swan figureheads with beaks of gold that flashed in the sun. Their onyx eyes gleamed as if for the promise of taking flight and going on adventure.

So why did she survive? She had longed so badly for Valinor, but gave up on her homesickness. But why did she not feel the need to sail? What gave her the idea that the All-Father wanted her to remain?

The trees rustled. The white stone gleamed and the green of the plants looked vibrant, the waters alive, and the skies sang. But Estela felt that she would not get on a ship, even if the Valar allowed her, to go to Valinor.

Even before her beloved children were born, she felt compelled to stay.

There was something else that needs to be done.

Her daughter, yes, but something else.

One more task, she felt. But what?

Estela, Queen of the Noldor turned away. If that was true…

She only hoped her daughter would endure, survive and live to be the person she would be. The priceless treasure should not fall to the hands of the Dark Lord-to-be Sauron.

As she made her way back to the palace she was staying, something caught her eye. It was the flower that Vanimelda had given her the day she told her daughter the story of her family.

A flower, similar in shape to a pimpernel, but much larger, and the colour of purest, burnished gold and silver.

According to Celebrian and Galadriel the flowers started popping up everywhere the _exact day _her daughter was born.

Like the Niphredil that sprung to herald Lúthien's birth, that looked like a more delicate, exquisite snowdrop.

This flower was Elanor- that was what people called it. It meant Sun-star in Sindarin, and it made her wonder if it had something to do with the powerful secret that her daughter carried within her veins.

But it also made her think that the All-Father and the Valar might not be frowning on her very existence after all. Didn't they bless and save her daughter?

And it shone, that flower. Shone with the promise of hope and joy.

Estela sighed and picked some. Perhaps she would hold them as a reminder, when things looked bleak.

* * *

Celebrimbor awoke with a startled gasp.

Something was not right.

By far.

Beside him, Silmiel murmured in her sleep. She woke, however, soon enough.

"Beloved," she said sleepily. "What is it?"

He did not answer her. He could not answer her. How could he?

He only looked at her with wide eyes, wondering just how long they had.

* * *

Sauron's eyes blazed as he looked down at the barren, ash-riddled plains, where orcs in crude iron armour made ready.

The gates of Mordor opened. It would not attack Lindon. Or the Greenwood. Instead it went by another road.

The orcs marched for war.

And they marched to gain not only the upper-hand, but to gain the Rings from Eregion.

* * *

_**I realise I haven't done a glossary of Quenya words- of which you will find aplenty here. Quenya is used as an 'equivalent to Latin' in Middle-Earth, but Gil-Galad, Estela and Galadriel would have spoken it as cradle-tongues. They in turn would have passed it onto their children, and used it in private while Sindarin was for public use and meeting strangers- like Thengel, father of Théoden spoke Sindarin and Westron with his family in private and Rohirric in public (his wife was** **Númenórean**_**_). _**

_**The problem is Gil-Galad really is popular isn't he? If he lives, everyone would be happier- including Estela. She did pray for her never to outlive him or their children. But if he lives, then the story-line, as someone rightfully pointed out, of Lord of the Rings, would be ruined. **_

_**But as I've been repeating- the end is not the end.**_

* * *

"_Er enyalin lalielya. Milyanyel Atar." -_"I still recall your laughing. I long for you, Father."

Yonya- "my Son."

Seldë- "Daughter."

Essecarmë- Elven naming ceremony in which the Father-name is announced publicly.

Melmenya- "My love."

Endórë- Quenya word for Middle-Earth- Endor is Sindarin.

Atar- "Father."

Amil- "Mother."

Atto- "Dad/Daddy."

Ammë- "Mum/Mummy."


	40. Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty

"Well, if we can't provide them with proof, than this means we have no allies," Estela said grimly. She sat on a chair, lips pressed tight as her eyes flashed.

"What shall we do without them? We do not have the numbers to mount a full assault on Sauron's rebuilt forces when they come."

"We do not," Ereinion agreed. Estela sighed in frustration.

"The problem is, acquiring one."

Estela scoffed. Of course that was the problem.

"Well?" She demanded.

"Send out scouts," Ereinion answered. "Send word to Elrond, at least. He will know what to do."

Estela raised her eyebrows. "Ereinion, tell me, can we prevent this?"

"The All-Father has never let evil gain victory in this world," Ereinion said sternly. "And I doubt very much that He will now. Send out word. We will be ready when he comes."

Estela looked at him for a long while, sighed, and nodded, realising to argue with him was futile. She rose and left.

Ereinion watched her go. In all truth, he would rather she stay close to him, or behind with Vanimelda. But she was the most capable military commander besides himself, what else could he do?

But still fear knotted his gut, unlike when he came close to death himself, when he thought of his wife and remaining child.

What will happen to them? He swallowed all thoughts. What must be done, will be done.

* * *

Vanimelda played in her nursery. The golden ball, carved and embossed with intricate flowers and leafy stems and beautifully painted top were only touched half-heartedly today. Her doll lay discarded after a while.

Something was not right. Vanimelda closed her eyes.

She reached out, and she saw a mountain. _No_, she was _on_ the mountain.

The highest mountain there ever was. Peaked with snow. And around them stars. So many stars, all of them brighter than they looked down below, shining as if with a secret fire. They seemed to dance, and many of them moved. They burned with a life of their own, and she as she looked in wonder at the light and colour, she seemed to notice what appeared to be a number of maidens, save that they were seemingly silver-white in colour- scooping handfuls of a glowing substance from huge vats.

Then they lifted them into the sky and the balls of light floated up and burst into a pure, coloured flame, and became stars.

Vanimelda watched with wide eyes.

She turned around. The place changed.

She saw green fields and meadows, deep cut valleys, so rich a green, they were positively _vibrant _with life. Flowers of all kinds, bloomed among the green, of creamy pastel shades or deep, richly vivid colours.

She saw a group of beings, male and female, green like the vegetation, or coloured like the blooms, or wood- resembling a strange, and yet hauntingly beautiful mix of elf and plant-life- tending to the vegetation, stroking the flowers, helping them grow towards the sun, to bloom, to burst in different colours, and to make the shoots burst forth to create new trees.

She turned around. She saw some similar beings- but different in that they seemed more akin to the trees and with incredibly slight animal features, such as the ears of a deer- guiding the herds out into the meadow.

She turned again.

She saw a huge city, rising on a green hill. On top of which, a towering silver lantern, sparkled like crystal in the daylight.

It was made of marble, with vines and rich flowers bordering just about everything, and _jewels_. Since when were they so common?

"_Tirion," _she heard a female voice say. _"City of the Noldor upon Valinor. Birthplace and home of your forebears._

"_And someday, you shall return here, Vanimelda." _

Vanimelda turned to look at the source of the voice, but instead found herself back in her nursery.

The nursery seemed peaceful. Nothing was out of place. All her toys were there. The paintings on the walls, done by her mother, were still beautiful, rich and shone with colour and seemingly, life. She rose and touched one.

It was a city, out in the distance. On a hill.

* * *

"We have proof." Someone declared.

Ereinion and Estela turned sharply around as one of their councillors, named Alyano was beaming exuberantly from the doorway.

Estela looked bewildered at Ereinion. Ereinion raised an eyebrow.

"An army of orcs march across Minas Anor- the newly-built capital of Gondor- this very moment. Elendil calls for aid."

"_What?!"_ Nearly everyone jumped at the harsh, almost enraged tone of Ereinion's voice.

He looked furious. Contrary to what Alyano naively believed.

Estela came over and touched her husband's arm. He calmed down.

"Send out for a muster," he ordered. "Call out for as many as you can."

A general nodded and left to carry out the High King's orders.

Brooding a storm, Ereinion turned to the window. This was not good.

Suddenly, Elrond came in. Ereinion raised an eyebrow. "Elrond, this is an unexpected arrival. But Minas Anor is to be laid at siege by Sauron. Do you bring aid?"

"Better yet, my king," Elrond replied, leading Ereinion's eyebrow to go higher. Puzzled, everyone looked at him. Elrond smiled, and parted, making way for an elf, tall as the ancients- though not as much as Estela's father- with alabaster skin, noble, chiselled features, hair like pure gold in some lights and bright golden in others, and the deepest blue eyes. He was dressed in Noldorin armour- by the likes of which Estela had not seen since the end of the First Age. In fact, most of it looked like….

It had come from the Noldorin of Aman. And about him, an outer spring-green cloak with a crest bearing an emblem- a golden rayed sun.

The elf bowed. He radiated such magnificence and majesty, strength and grace, reminiscent of the Golden Age of the Elves. Only Gil-Galad matched him in presence.

Everyone fell silent at the entrance of this lord.

For a while no one spoke. Then someone- no one remembered who it was- asked, "Who is this?" In a choked, dry voice.

The majestic elf did not even bat an eyelid. He seemed to shine with the light of the Ainur, with so much purity, strength and grace that he could have beena legendary figure of greatness in the days of old.

How true they turned out to be.

"My King, my Queen," Elrond announced. "May I present, Lord Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower."

* * *

Elendil, son of Amandil, looked worried. His sons, Isildur and Anarion stood nearby, watching him on the walls of Minas Anor.

How in Arda did the city manage to rise so quickly? Only with their skills and brains, and those of the elves.

The gleaming city now rose from Hill of the Guard, which itself jutted out from Mount Mindolluin. With seven levels, each one rising one hundred feet above the last, with the King's House, the courtyard with the White Tree- sprung from the fruit of Nimloth stolen from Armenelos- overlooking the Pelennor Fields, where it had a good view of, well, everything.

And although human eyes, even Númenórean ones, could not see what was happening, the scouts- who barely escaped with their lives- reported back what was approaching.

They were in trouble.

Elendil sent word to Gil-Galad for aid.

Isildur looked grim, Anarion worried, and both knew Sauron would have an overwhelmingly large force. He always had.

It was his style. Not merely to strike fear and terror in the hearts and minds of Men, but to crush anything as ruthlessly as could be.

Elendil looked at his sons, at the city built by them, at the new-found realm around them, and wondered, how strong were their people and line to withstand Sauron, Morgoth's lieutenant from an Ages ago.

* * *

"Shouldn't he be in Valinor?" Someone asked still dumbstruck.

Everyone gawked in awe at the legendary Balrog-Slayer of the First Age. It wasn't possible.

There was no way this could be Glorfindel. But this person…

Who else could it be? Only a hero of old. Or a Maia.

The shining elf bowed again.

"I assure you, my King and Queen that this is Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower of Gondolin. He has been re-embodied and returned from Mandos."

"But then shouldn't he still be on Valinor?" Someone blurted.

"He has been sent here." Elrond finished. "For a purpose, my King." The golden Balrog slayer said.

"A purpose?" Gil-Galad asked. He was possibly the one who recovered from the shock best of all. "What purpose would the Valar have in sending the Balrog Slayer back to Middle-Earth where he should endure and suffer pain and to fight alongside us, instead of basking in the bliss of the light?"

Elrond said, "Perhaps, I'd better let him explain." He moved aside further.

Glorfindel moved closer to the table. If he was aware, and uneasy at all the gawking they were giving him, he gave no sign.

"My King, my queen." Glorfindel began. "Yes, it is true. After I fell with the beast of Morgoth, I arrived in the Halls of Mandos. I thought to be judged and to remain in Valinor for all my days. But a decision was made, by more the one Vala that sent me back here, where I fought and lived before my end." Estela narrowed her eyes.

She spoke nothing, though. Why should she?

She only stood by her husband's side as the regal and imposing king looked nonetheless impressed by the Balrog-Slayer.

"I see, so you have come to help us defeat Sauron?" The Balrog-Slayer nodded.

"If my King will accept my help." He got down on one knee, and withdrew his sword. Placing the blade flat on the palms of his hands he presented it to Gil-Galad.

"I offer you my sword and allegiance as it is."

Everyone's eyes turned to Gil-Galad to see his reaction. His eyebrow was raised, and while Estela watched warily, he moved forwards slowly, and placed his hand on Glorfindel's shoulder.

"Rise." The warrior did so. "I accept your fealty, Lord Glorfindel and am more than honoured to do so, as are we all." Glorfindel looked up. "By your experience and wisdom, surely we can count on you as more than a steadfast ally? Can we count you as an advisor in these matters? For surely, you better than anyone, know of the danger that awaits a battle with evil."

Glorfindel bowed his head, hand over his heart. "It would be considered a great honour."

Later, Ereinion walked through the hallways.

"Where is the Queen?" He asked a passing attendant.

"In her weaving room, Sire." The maiden curtsied, and left carrying a stack of towels.

Ereinion sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. She only went there to relieve her stress about something. Or worry. Or anger. Or boredom.

Being a gifted weaver meant that one could easily unwind oneself amidst all the miniscule knots and tiny, prickling needles of weaving fabric, he thought ruefully. He could never understand her love of the art, though he certainly was in awe of the results, as the rest.

He arrived in the weaving room- and it was not a small room, by the way- and noted Estela sitting on the stool in front of her monumental loom. Acres of fabric extended from the machine out to various hooks and sections of the place built to hang and hold fabric of all lengths and types. It was lush and luminous in colour, the material. She often made her own clothes, and just about everyone's, he reflected. Even the clothing the servants wore. And tapestries, drapes- anything for trading. Her own gift had come from a foremother she resented, though she kept it to him and herself.

"Estela?" He closed the door.

Estela said nothing and gave no indication she even knew he was there. She simply used the shuttle on the fabric, before pulling and closing the shed of the loom. She put the shuttle down.

"I'm amazed the Balrog-Slayer is here." She said. He raised an eyebrow and regarded her in silence. "What do you have against him?"

"Nothing," she said, turning back to her weaving. "Just surprised to see someone from Turukáno's guard arrive here all of a sudden. From Gondolin." She remarked.

The High King remembered something. "You were close with Idril, weren't you?"

"Yes." She said. She used the shuttle to comb the fabric again. "Though I didn't see her since we parted ways and never knew of her marriage and son, until Maeglin's betrayal. I never knew him either."

"Huh." Ereinion moved slightly. "What was your relationship with Turukáno?"

"Quite well, actually," Estela said, still weaving. "Though I don't know whether he blamed my grandfather, father and uncles for his wife's demise."

Ereinion grunted. He moved closer to her.

Estela put the shuttle down and faced him. "I don't know if this elf from the First Age sees me as the same as the stories of my family. Why should he want to see me? Shouldn't he blame me, for all the misfortune there was? My grandfather dragging him and his kin out of the safety of Valinor and wonder if the daughter is something like the father? That is what one would wonder, isn't it, if they never saw or heard of me fight."

She rose. "What makes you think that?" Ereinion demanded. "Because forgiveness is a very rare thing in this world, as I've discovered. If it was would Númenor have been lost? Would Orodreth have had this feud with-"

"So you judge that he has feelings towards you without knowing you?" Ereinion demanded. "Come now, Estela. You're more intelligent than that. I thought you've stopped blaming yourself for what your family has done."

"Maybe," Estela said.

"Then why the fuss?"

"Because I cannot get rid of my feelings towards my family. I cannot condemn them the way others have. I cannot rid my memories of love and happiness and speak ill of them. And therefore, people will think ill of me, if they ever know of that."

"You cannot know that." Ereinion said. "Not all the records show them in a bad light." Estela's lip curled. "The kinslayings are recorded in every history book there is. The Kinslaying at Alqualondë- the breath-takingly beautiful harbour of the swans. The Sacking of Doriath- that great city. The Havens of Sirion- a safe place for elves- or so it was."

"Elrond speaks no ill of them- they raised him, and they raised him well. You did as well, as I recall." His eyes narrowed.

Estela was silent.

"What will you have me do?" She asked. "Do you really think this person would really be willing to take orders from the granddaughter of Fëanor, should the time come? After all that's happened to him- do you think he'd want to?"

The exile of the Noldor. The Fall of Gondolin. The Balrog that he slew but caused him to fall to his death. What if he had been haunted and scarred by the past, to be willing to see her in a new light?

And even though she never admitted it, Estela feared above all else, apart from what could befall the ones she cared about, was reliving the ghosts of a past she had sought to bury a long time ago.

Estela was not in any miniscule way flawed as a queen, military commander and stateswoman or even a hostess, and she gave absolutely no indication of what she felt having the Balrog-Slayer there, she did not seek him out the way everyone else expected her two-after all, why wouldn't two military commanders, and legendary figures who had lived through the First Age want to meet and interact with one another, talking about military experiences.

But as it happened, Estela barely exchanged words with the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower. Unless one counted formal greetings and instructions as to where and when the next briefing would take place.

In fact, though people did not see any deliberate action of the queen in this, though they certainly remarked upon it, she downright avoided him.

That is, she did what she could to do just that without seeming rude.

After all this time, Elrond thought, frowning to himself. Glorfindel, though he had not voiced it, had wondered if he had done something to offend the queen.

But as one would have it, Estela was packing textiles, many of which she had spun and woven herself, rolling them up and packing them away in preparation for the moving to Minas Anor, instructing the others on how to properly pack weapons, when Glorfindel arrived in the room.

The weaving room had mostly been emptied, save for the loom. After all, how was she supposed to use that while on the march? There were more than enough bandages, blankets, spare clothing of all sizes, towels, wash-cloths and so forth, that she already made. Now there were mostly boxes and chests.

Glorfindel looked upon this with a carefully guarded expression.

The queen wore riding clothes, nothing fancy. But I no way did this diminish her beauty. Her gold-and-silver-streaked copper hair- and the colour was truly striking- was done in braids swept away from her face. She was a blade used for battle, a helm. Not a useless bauble or trinket.

Eventually, Estela registered his presence. "Lord Glorfindel." She said emotionlessly.

He bowed. "My Queen."

"What brings you here?" She asked him.

"The High King asked me to escort and assist you in any way if need be." He replied.

Estela's arched eyebrow raised. "Well, we are actually well and sorted, my lord Glorfindel. And most of the things have already been packed ever since we decided to go."

He nodded but could not keep his eyes off her. He was looking intensely, no scrutinizing her. There was no denying that.

Estela turned back to the remaining fabric and rolled it up. Tucking it into a leather case, she turned back to the Balrog-Slayer.

She cocked her head to one side. The Balrog-Slayer was studying her with no small amount of curiosity, interest and fascination, and… was it wistfulness?

"My lord?" She enquired coolly.

The Balrog-Slayer blinked. "Forgive me, my Queen." He bowed. "I had no intention of being discourteous, especially to you. It's just that… The Princess Idril speaks greatly of you."

"_Itarillë?"_ Estela could not help the look of intense shock that spread across her face.

He blinked. "Yes, my lady. She said you were quite close."

Estela blinked spastically.

No one apart from those that had known them personally in Valinor, had ever known her and Idril to be close, sisters in fact, in spirit if not in blood, though they were kin.

She recovered herself. "Yes," she said, trying to regain her composure. "Long ago. But I did not see her again since… well, I think you know. We never even bade each other farewell. I never saw her again, nor have I heard of her since the Fall of Gondolin. Only that she and Tuor sailed to Valinor. Nothing more of her."

Glorfindel registered this for a moment, with pain. "I'm sorry, my lady I should not have mentioned it."

"None of it was your doing," Estela murmured, passing a hand over her face, before turning back to the packing. "Was she happy?"

Glorfindel appeared mildly surprised at this question. "Yes, I believe so." He looked at her again, studying her closely. "She never stopped missing you. She wished you were there with her. It pained her that she did not hear news from you and did not meet her son." The words were spoken softly, yet were harsh with a remembered pain, for what was long gone.

Estela closed her eyes. "Yes. I felt the same." She was amazed her voice did not tremble and remained strong. Estela opened them, and looked into Glorfindel's. "Those days are long-since passed. The Sun has been shining for nearly two Ages now."

"Yes." Glorfindel said softly.

"I hope she finds her peace," Estela said quietly. "Wherever she is."

Itarillë had married a mortal. Who knew if she still lived, or her body had faded and she chose to stay in Mandos with her _fëa_-mate.

They were both silent for a while.

"I pray you find your peace, Lord Glorfindel." Estela said quietly. He looked up at her, blue eyes searching, with more than just wistfulness now. They were both elves who had lost something.

"Just as I pray for you, my lady." Glorfindel said, sincerely and sorrowfully. Estela nodded her thanks, and the ice broke between them. Even if they did not speak of more painful things. She went and finished her packing.

* * *

"Is it done?" Sauron's mighty but cold voice, more chilling than the thought of being in Angband, boomed.

"Yes, master." The orc hissed in pleasure. "The plans for attack have been set in motion as you requested." It licked its parched lips and leered. "Soon, we will have a war they cannot win."

"I doubt that." Sauron said. "I would never underestimate the High King and his wife. Estela alone does more damage twitching her little finger than the orcs do in their tens of thousands."

The orc flinched, expecting to be struck- or worse.

Sauron's back was turned to the orc. He stood over a chasm, of which overlooked a sea of lava. It was inside Mount Doom, as he called it.

Here, the last and greatest Ring of Power would be made.

"Do you have it?" he asked someone else.

Another orc came with a box. It opened it, and inside, gleaming and winking in the fiery light, were sixteen rings.

He had obtained the Rings of Power.

Sauron always had his ways.

If the helm showed it, they would have seen Sauron smile. But that chilling sight was never seen, as all was silent, save for the noises of the lava below.

"The boy?" Sauron said suddenly. "Is he safe?"

The orc bowed, twitching. "Yes, master. He is safe. He will not leave."

"Good." Sauron turned back to the lava. "Make sure he never does."

* * *

Estela met with Celebrimbor before they left.

"Do you wish me to ride with you?" He asked.

Estela hesitated, looking back at Ereinion. "I think we have enough. And besides, we're worried Sauron might pull up a surprise attack on Lindon, Eregion, Imladris, or anywhere else. With him wearing Vilya and leaving, the whole of Lindon will be vulnerable- unless you count the power of Narya with Círdan in the Grey Havens. Please… just be safe. Be safe and keep your wife and child safe, the way I wished for my firstborn, and would hesitate nothing to do the same for my second child."

Celebrimbor frowned. "You know I don't like you going into battle without me."

"I know." Estela said. "But it's not like we haven't done it before. Sometimes we need brains rather than sheer numbers- and we certainly would need it in order to defeat Sauron's forces in Minas Anor." She looked pained. "I will miss riding out with you. I always will. But at least I am consoled you are with your family. And nothing can compete with that."

"Family is everything," Celebrimbor murmured. And he went over and touched her shoulder. "As is all of mine. _All._ My daughter and my wife. And my sister. My _Osellë_."

He used the Quenya word for bond-sister. They were cousins, true, but they were not siblings in flesh and blood. But they were bond-siblings in heart and spirit and that would never change. She choked on emotion. But her composure held, save for a sad smile.

"And mine as well, _Otorno_," she said referring to him by the male term.

"Take care, and be safe." Estela whispered, as the two pulled together into an embrace. "I love you, brother of my heart. And there is nothing I wouldn't do for you. Ever."

"And I you, Sister." Celebrimbor whispered, trying to supress his tears. "Keep yourself safe and come home. Come home to us, to your child- to all who love you more than you know."

She nodded, and turned to go back to the horses.

As she turned one last time, Estela had the eerie, creeping, horrifying feeling that something was about to cut the anchors that held her down through all the turbulence her life had given her. That when she looked at Celebrimbor for the last time before they took off, that she was memorising his face and form, though she already knew it by heart, as if she would never see it again.

He was doing the same thing.

Estela and Ereinion rode all the way to Minas Anor.

"What will happen once we reach there?" She asked him. "Will we find the hosts of Mordor already camped and ready for battle?"

Ereinion frowned. He was worried. His brow furrowed. "I do not know. There is much we have yet to learn."

"He has every reason to attack Gondor," Estela said. "So why do we feel so uneasy?"

Ereinion looked at her.

"It isn't that this attack came all of a sudden, soon after Númenor's downfall." Ereinion said. "It isn't that he managed to gather a large host in time, and built and fortified the land of Mordor to suit his needs."

"So what is it?" She asked desperately.

"I do not know."

Estela's mind wandered back to her daughter.

She had knelt in front of the little girl, and gave her a kiss. But not before giving her a pendant. It was _mithril_ swirls similar to the rays of the eight-pointed star, the symbol of the House of Fëanáro-or the stars of her father's coat of arms. The heart of the pendant was a white stone, glittering and glowing with white light so pure and bright, it seemed to have a life of its own.

"You, my child." She whispered. "Are the most precious thing in this world to your father and I. Never forget that. I will love you, far more than my own life, even more than you can ever know. I love you, and so does your father, more than anything or anyone can ever describe in words or gestures."

Estela brought herself back to reality. Her heart clenched and threatened to tear. Tears sprung in her eyes but she did not show them. She hoped the Valar and the All-Father would keep her safe, no matter what happens, no matter what came and threw itself into the world. Now that they were so far away from Valinor.

If not for her, than at least for her daughter. There was nothing- nothing she wouldn't do for her daughter. She would do, kill or even be anything for Vanimelda. She would even die by torment.

_When did I become like this?_ She mused. _So emotional. A wreck, even? _

She had no answers for herself. It could have been the trauma of what happened to her son. It could have been that marriage changed her feelings. Estela, once so in control, had becoming like the storms of Ossë inside. Unpredictable. Uncontrollable. Wild even, though she shrank from the idea of being that.

But she prayed nonetheless, with all her heart, to the All-Father, silently praying that Vanimelda would not suffer torment and death, or a life like the one her mother had lived.

Hopefully, she would grow and flourish in joy and peace. _As any child deserves._

* * *

The Rings of Power have been distributed. Only the elves were too blind to see it. Not even the Power of the Three held by Gil-Galad, Galadriel and Círdan could sense that.

The humans had taken the Rings eagerly. In fact, they did not even bother to question the giver, when their eyes lit up and gleamed with greed and a lust for riches and power which Sauron had ever managed to manipulate to his benefit.

A weakness shared by the dwarves. But the dwarves took some convincing, some grumbling, many of them were naturally suspicious. They were not as weak as Men. Eventually, he would give up on them- but not just yet.

Sauron stood, and saw all.

Mordor marched upon Gondor- they were just a doorstep away. But he was the Trickster. The Deceiver.

They had no idea what was coming.

_Let them have their victory- at least, so they think._

Estela was wrenched out of the thoughts of her daughter, when she saw Minas Anor rise in front of her.

Minas Anor- City of Kings. Tower of the Sun. And oh, it gleamed the marble in the light was breath-taking. Truly one of the wonders of the world.

Everywhere around her, she heard exclamations of amazement and awe. She tried to supress a smile.

"Impressive," Glorfindel said. "It appears the Race of Men has grown great." She had almost forgotten that he was never there to see Númenor rise from the sea, or humans start civilisations of their own.

"You have no idea," Estela murmured, and urged her horse forward.

They rode, whereupon the guards permitted them entry with great ceremony and fanfare.

Was that truly necessary?

But Elendil himself, his wife and sons, came and bowed low to the High King of the elves and his wife, which was returned by Ereinion.

"Mellon-nin." Elendil bowed, the greeting which was returned by Ereinion.

"It is good to see you," Elendil said. "Hope has returned with your arrival."

Estela watched from the horse, before dismounting. Elendil turned to her.

"My lady." Elendil said.

Estela bowed her head in respect. "My lord."

Ereinion smiled. "We only hope that we can work together to drive Sauron from these lands."

_Hopefully we can do something more than that,_ Estela thought. She wanted him annihilated.

"I pray soon." Ereinion said, and Elendil agreed. Ereinion motioned for Glorfindel to come forth.

"And who is this?" Elendil asked, after a moment of awe for the gold-haired elf.

"Glorfindel, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower in Gondolin, and Slayer of Morgoth's Balrog."

There was a gasp from the humans assembled.

Estela stifled a wry smile, as Glorfindel bowed. He would never be another soldier amongst them.

Mordor marched against them.

Estela knew they came.

They were not at Gondor yet. The news was that they had received was that the landing of ships- consisting of humans- corsairs, orcs (who hated water and would only sail upon it if someone like Morgoth or Sauron was commanding them) human mercenaries, and Dark Númenóreans, remnants of the King's Men on Middle-Earth.

They would land in the Bay of Belfalas.

How clever. Then they would draw them out of Anórien, the capital province surrounding Minas Anor.

And what happened then?

"They would hold our attention, and since they outnumber us, they have enough troops to spare." Gil-Galad murmured quietly.

"Then they would go around and attack Minas Anor." She couldn't remember who spoke- it was either her husband or Glorfindel.

Instead, Estela's mind was far away.

How in the name of the Valar did they have enough troops to spare- or more than enough? How was it that every time elves, men and dwarves either separate or combined, faced the forces of darkness, led by Sauron or Morgoth, they were always outstandingly outnumbered? Of course, numbers did not always win. In fact, many times, strategy and courage saved the day for all Middle-Earth. But if there was one thing all the history she had had taught her, is that always they were outnumbered.

How?

Of course, she knew how orcs were first made by Morgoth, or Melkor. But Morgoth was long gone, and Sauron was no Morgoth in terms of power- though he certainly outwitted even his master in cunning. How did Sauron manage to get an army of vast proportions so fast, minus the humans that came to his side? By all accounts after the War of Wrath, orcs and trolls were scattered and disbanded, hunted down by all others, and the Balrogs disappeared deep underground.

If this was how much he had, he was bound to have many more at his disposal in Mordor.

"What are we to do?" Estela heard herself speaking as if from a great distance.

"A plan has been developed, which would work on their weakness as well as their thinking they have the upper hand," was the response from Ereinion. "A window of opportunity has opened up to us, and it would be dangerous to let it get away."

"Most of us would be on foot," Glorfindel continued. "In phalanx formation. In the hills above Belfalas we would have a clear look at what the enemy is doing." Ereinion explained. He was pointing to the hills on the map of Gondor and Arnor's territories.

"They outnumber us. They have humans and orcs- many of the humans are Dark Númenóreans, survivors of the King's Men of Númenor, who left to colonise and invade Middle-Earth. Their archers are from Khand, cavalry riders from Rhûn , and Dark Númenóreans swordsmen.

"They are formidable," Ereinion said dryly. "But they have weaknesses which we can exploit. They have little in common with one another, and they look down and detest the orcs, who hate them in return, although Sauron's power keeps them from ripping each other to shreds. So I think you can guess their weaknesses."

"They may not even share a common way of fluent communication." Estela realised. "They do not have a language to share, and they hate one another, fighting only out of greed, bloodlust and fear of Sauron. But then…"

She dared not say more.

"The commander, Dolguzagar, the Dark Númenórean, has concocted a plan," Ereinion continued. "He desires nothing more than a quick victory, planning only to attack us unawares. Of course, as has been spoken, he plans to hold and overwhelm us, whilst attacking Minas Anor through the long way. Whereupon the cavalry and quantities of infantry would sail to the capital, whereas twelve thousand orcs and men would stay to attack us in the coast of Belfalas."

He scoffed.

Glorfindel smiled slightly and shook his head. "They will not have the time. It will take ten hours in the very least, to get to Minas Anor, and we shall attack them- whilst their cavalry is far away.

"We shall ready them for battle." "And there we shall move, not in the usual phalanx, but in another shape and form which will disallow them to take advantage of our small size and close in around us, like the arms of death." Ereinion said grimly.

"The widest range possible shall be used to form our new phalanx." He continued. "It shall be weakened, compared to the ones we normally use, but though the centre be thin, the wings are strong and will close in on them, when they come forwards, rather than they upon us."

Estela expelled the breath she didn't even realise she was holding.

"That's not what bothers me," Estela said. "With every elf and man we lose, and we are likely to lose many, Sauron has more than two orcs to jump and take each loss' place for his side. If he has so much now, how much more will he have the next time he chooses to strike, if he wins, and we are still recuperating from a loss? We cannot afford to lose."

Everyone else looked at each other, and they knew she was right.

"And even if we win, they will still attack," she said. "We need time, time to build up our numbers, time to heal wounds, gather fresh supplies and re-group. So do they- but they have other forces at their reserve. Retreat for them may be necessary, to lick their wounds, but they are still more formidable and dangerous than us, if you count their numbers."

"Which is why we cannot allow this window of opportunity to pass," Ereinion said. "Everything depends on it."

She grimaced inwardly and frowned. Ereinion saw and his look softened.

"I know you do not like going through with so little options for retreat, regrouping and another attack in case this one fails," he said. "But here we have no choice. In every other aspect, they will outnumber and are likely to prove successful against us. The All-Father and the Valar has presented us with a window of opportunity and we must arise and take it in our grasp before it passes."

Ereinion did not move his gaze from his wife, who hesitated, then reluctantly nodded. Sauron was even worse than Morgoth in some ways.

"Where is Sauron?" He asked suddenly. "That servant of Morgoth is not anywhere to be seen. He lurks in Mordor, but do we know that he will not come out?"

"He will never risk himself," Glorfindel said suddenly. "Not in a 'minor' battle such as this. He will keep to the shadows of Mordor."

"But what is he doing?" Estela asked quietly. "It's what he's doing and what he's planning next that can be more dangerous than the last move."

* * *

Celebrimbor awoke in the middle of the night. Something by far was not right.

"Silmiel," he shook his wife awake. "Silmiel!"

She woke suddenly and she gasped. "Telpe," she whispered. "What's going on?"

Without answering, Celebrimbor slid out of bed and left to enter his safest store house. Here, the wards were powerful and strong, and Celebrimbor opened them, so he could look into the box where the sixteen Rings were supposed to lie.

Except that when he opened it, they weren't there.

He knew then, they were in serious trouble. This was no mere dream.

"Alert the dwarves!" He ordered one of his sentries when he emerged. "Send messengers to Círdan in Lindon, Elrond in Imladris and Galadriel in Lothlórien. What we have feared the worst has come to past."

The chilling question was, what was Sauron planning to do next? He needed a way to bind the sixteen rings to him, through another ring, but why would the former Maia of Aulë need him to make those Rings for him?

Because Sauron, then Mairon, had never been the best Maia at smith-work. Even Fëanor did better than him. Sauron's strength lay in forgery of a different kind. The reason why the Silmarils were so sought after, and the _Palantiri_. The reason why he needed Celebrimbor to make the Rings of Power. Because they had great strength and beauty of another quality that none could imagine.

And Celebrimbor knew where the last Three lay. Sauron would want them, no matter what the cost.

Very soon, the walls started to shake and orcs started to arrive on the fringes of Eregion.

* * *

Estela, oblivious to her cousin's peril, saw the armies dismount and noted the ships set sail.

They had waited for a long while. Now was the time to strike.

The phalanx moved forwards and the sneering orcs and their human allies, stood in place.

"The archers," Ereinion said quietly. Both she and Glorfindel, who was standing nearby, knew what he meant. Their archers could cause serious damage. In the meantime they had to concentrate what was in front of them.

"We have to go quickly," Glorfindel said, and Estela nodded. He was right.

But they had planned for this. And they were capable.

"Send out the signal," Ereinion said. "Keep marching. For now."

And so they did.

And so they waited. And so the enemy waited. For now.

Then the signal came. The elves and Dúnedain broke into a run, much to the shock of the awaiting enemy ranks.

No one ran in armour. Yes, these were elves, strong and light and quick on their feet, but even so, this was unusual. Most times elves leapt out of nowhere. Most times they waited before charging. They did not run recklessly into battle.

Suddenly they had to quell their fears. The sight of elves, dangerous, lethal actually, ready-armed and running towards them, ready to kill, does strange things to one's nerves. Their own infantry wasn't so heavily-armed.

"Form ranks!" The order was given both in Black Speech and the humans' various tongues.

They hastily did so, managing not to trip, somehow, but barely had any time to react as the elves and Dúnedain rained upon them like the end had come.

The enemy men fought with no fear left, and with all the strength they could muster. They gritted their teeth and pushed on. They would not give in. They would not bow down. They would resist at all costs. But it was of little avail.

The orcs screeched and brutally cut down any who came upon them.

The Enemy Commander ordered them to push forwards. No matter the cost, push forwards! They did so and despite the strength of men and elves, by sheer numerous weight alone, they managed to succeed.

Glorfindel gritted his teeth, and Estela shook with rage. They had no time for this! They had to move quickly!

Ereinion also gritted his teeth and his eyes flashed with rage, but he gave the signal.

Suddenly the wings closed in on the enemy's charging ranks and proceeded to push and cut down the enemy line from the sides.

They pushed. Inwards they went, and they pushed.

Again they pushed and they fought, again the pressed forwards and harder than ever. They gritted their teeth, and sweat poured down men's necks, while muscles and veins bulged as their eyes flashed with rage, but they still fought tirelessly.

They cut down the enemy like they were butter, and annihilated most of them, all the while, pushing and driving them closer to the sea.

Stupidly, belatedly, the stunned archers, desperate, shot their arrows, but the problem was, their own troops and allies, were so packed closely with their enemy that their own soldiers started to fall due to friendly fire alone.

"Forwards!" Ereinion shouted. Glorfindel led the charge, glad to do so, once again.

The screams of men and orcs could be heard as they were either slaughtered, pushed back or both. And still the humans and elves kept pushing them back towards the sea.

Watching from his ship, his eyes wide, the second-in-command of this force ordered the retreat. They hastily rushed towards the water, and tried to reach the ships desperately. The elven archers shot at them, but then paused.

"Cut them off!" Estela was heard shouting. "Cut them off!" Glorfindel led his contingent to do just that.

Few survived the onslaught.

While the surviving humans sailed off, refusing to help any of their disgusting allies, whom they were happy to leave for dead in the Bay of Belfalas, those that were not so lucky, mainly orcs, were left to be slaughtered in the water they so hated. After all, when had one ever seen an orc bathe or drink pure water?

"We have no time!" It could have been either Estela or Glorfindel who said it, but Ereinion did not pay attention. He was already moving onto the next phase of the plan.

"We march and ride to Minas Anor," he said. "Now!"

In the meanwhile, Dolguzagar, the Dark Númenórean commander, had just received the news. Shocked, he was even further so, and horrified to see that they were in position, ready to defend Minas Anor. The attacking force froze.

They knew they had lost this day. And Sauron was not going to be pleased. But while most of the humans fled to their own lands, the orcs were the ones who bore the brunt of it all. The whip and lash inflicted by an enraged Sauron, onto his useless servants, would come later. _After_ his own personal triumph.

* * *

Celebrimbor put on his armour.

The attack was coming, and he knew it.

"Silmiel," he called. "Silmiel!"

His wife came running. "Telpe, for Manwë's sake, _what is it_?"

"We're under attack," Celebrimbor chose not to mince his words and he tightened the straps of his cuirass. He summoned one of his guards. "Sound the alarm. We are under attack." The elf hastily bowed and ran off.

"Get Eleniel!" He barked to his wife. "Retreat to the courtyard. Now!"

Pale and terrified, Silmiel ran to get her daughter.

Celebrimbor drew his sword, the metal gleamed menacingly in the moonlight.

Sauron was coming. This much he was certain.

The orcs came. They attacked the city, and many of their inhabitants fell.

Thanks to the clever, yet secret system of communication Celebrimbor devised for his ally, the dwarves of Khazad-dûm, the dwarves had arrived quickly and began to help their friends defend the city.

Wave after wave of orcs attacked, and the elves and dwarves combined pushed them back, like a flood, and victory it seemed was drawing near.

They thought too soon.

Celebrimbor drew Azkâr, his great bow, and shot two orcs as they came towards him. Black blood squirted from the eye socket of the first of the orcs as they fell.

Celebrimbor's only thought was protecting his family. They were behind him, Eleniel clutching at her mother in fright.

Celebrimbor drew his sword and they came. He slashed one, spinning to one side, and cutting its throat by the side. He quickly sliced the middle of the next one, and cut down a third, before fighting a pair who tried to overwhelm him, by stabbing one in the throat and the other in the gut. He didn't even keep count, as he, Celebrimbor, scion of one of the mightiest warrior Houses of all the Eldar, spun his sword and sliced into many more, untouched by any, uncatchable by all, invincible, glorious and legendary to all those who beheld him.

Yes, victory seemed near.

One more to go, Celebrimbor desperately thought, wishing nothing more than his family to be safe.

He gave a mighty leap through the air, and plunged his sword into the heart of the next foul creature who wanted to dispatch his family to the Halls of Mandos, or even worse, Mordor.

But as he thought it was over and thought that he could breathe in relief and get them out of there, a light exploded in front of him, knocking him back, and causing him to land on one knee.

It made even the strong elven Celebrimbor shield his eyes. But it was not a holy light.

A huge, gigantic figure, armoured in iron, with a helm crowned with spikes, covering his face, appeared at the edge of the courtyard.

Sauron.

Now Celebrimbor knew he was defeated. But he had no choice. He would give his all, still, to save his family no matter what.

He leapt and lunged.

Celebrimbor, mighty scion of Fëanáro's House.

But the mace struck.

And the last thing Celebrimbor saw was his family being dragged away by Sauron's foul creatures. His wife screaming his name, and his daughter crying, _"Atar! Atar!"_ He tried to reach out to them, but others grabbed him and he saw a pulsing red light emitting from the mace of Sauron, as the great, huge, hulking figure made his way towards him, with booming footsteps that threatened to shake the foundations of everything.

And the voice, deep, chilling, and terrifying even to the bravest hearts.

"_Take him to Mordor."_

Celebrimbor knew this was just the beginning of the end.

* * *

Estela rode to the command tent. Whatever it was, it was not good.

The enemy had retreated- fled even. But something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. She emerged in the command tent to find her husband alone. No military advisors. Not even Glorfindel, whose advice he took greatly now.

"Estela," Ereinion said. His voice was grim, and full of strong warning. His eyes were agonized. Pained and hating what he had to do next.

"What's the news?" She asked breathlessly.

"You were right." He said. "The armies of Sauron marched upon Eregion."

Estela's breath caught in her throat. _Eregion… no!_

She nearly fell. Clutching the table and gasping, she struggled to see, to function, to even breathe. _Eregion, no!_

Celebrimbor! Silmiel! Eleniel! They were there, in Eregion! Her _otorno_!

She should have never left.

She ignored Ereinion's pulling her up, to wrench away from him, and sank down to her knees, giving out a wretched, shattered, broken-spirited cry.

The scream echoed through the camps, and everyone outside jumped startled, and panicked, thinking that the High King and Queen were under attack, or possibly in mortal peril.

Ereinion went down with her, but Estela would not stop crying. Her spirit was torn, shattered, ripped from her, and cast out, and she could never get it back. She howled and screamed, wanting nothing more than to claw her heart out, rip it out of her chest, to gouge out her eyes, to scratch her lips and cheeks until they bled, to rip out her hair- anything. Anything to get rid of this pain.

Ereinion caught her, and held her tightly, too tightly for her to push away, and muffled her cries onto his shoulder.

When someone entered, alarmed, he gave them a sharp look and they hastily left as quickly as they came.

And Estela screamed as she felt a part of her soul and heart, the cousin who was more a brother than she could describe, disappear from this world, vanish from the earthly realm…. Forever.

The brother who had been there, when all else had died, and left her be. The last remaining link to a happier past. The only ones she had, save for her husband and children, of her blood-family.

And she was not there to help them. And she could now. Not like in the War of Wrath. And she would never forgive herself for not being there for her _Otorno_.

Like all the rest of them. And that was why she never truly forgave herself- not because of the shame of her family's deeds, or the Doom of Mandos, the curse inflicted upon her House, but because she wasn't there.

And how do you justify the reasons, _to your own heart_?

* * *

Celebrimbor gritted his teeth, not wanting to give Sauron the satisfaction of hearing him scream in torment.

They held him down. These were no ordinary trolls. Celebrimbor was too strong for that. And he had killed many of them, before they were replaced and they began torturing him to try to find the whereabouts of the Three Elven Rings. But they separated him from his family, which was even worse than the torture, and held him down on his knees as the great menacing armoured figure of Sauron made his way to him, but crumbled and melted away in black shards and dust to reveal the glowing form of… Annatar.

It was Annatar the Fair, the Giver of Gifts who made his way towards him now. But now, Celebrimbor knew just who this was, and what it masked.

Sauron had cut his ring finger. But though black, viscous blood, thinner than normal blood of elves, men or dwarves, appeared, so did a bright, pulsing light that filled Celebrimbor with horror.

His _fëa_ had been exposed. And it showed through the open finger out to Celebrimbor as Sauron placed his hand against his strong, noble jaw and forced him to look into his eyes.

He heard words from a terrible tongue, as terrible as the depths of Utumno and Angband. As terrible, and harsh, horrifying and painful as no mere words should be to an elf.

And although his lips did not move, Celebrimbor heard all.

_Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatulûk…_

But he fought, and so hard, Celebrimbor, descendant and inheritor of one of the mightiest elves, if not the mightiest, in _hröa_ and _fëa,_ Fëanáro, the Spirit of Fire.

But even the mightiest of spirits could not hold sway against the dark power of Sauron. And so as if by another, as if by afar, Celebrimbor heard himself say the last lines of that verse.

"Agh burzum-ishi krimpatul."

They released him. He rose and stood before Sauron before making his way to the cliff over the lava in Mount Doom.

He had managed to keep the Three Rings hidden from Sauron against all odds and the torture they inflicted upon him.

But in the end, Celebrimbor would pay a terrible price- one even worse than the one he was doing now.

All the information he had had, Sauron gleaned. And so there out of the fires of Mount Doom, out of gold, a ring so perfect, so lustrous and pleasing to the eye was made, of highest quality.

And so Sauron put it on his finger, and the still soft gold shone painfully bright with unnatural, unholy light. And inscriptions of the elegant Tengwar, invented by the grandfather of Celebrimbor and Estela, as horrible a mismatch as could be, appeared in red-flame colouring around the perfectly moulded band. Bearing the inscription that Sauron himself spoke to Celebrimbor and forced him to say the final words of.

No one yet knew.

The One Ring had been forged in Middle-Earth.

* * *

_**Okay that was done! The battle on the Bay of Belfalas in Gondor was inspired by the Battle of Marathon in which the Greeks defended Athens and the rest of their homeland. The tactics and strategy was the same used by the Greeks and the Persians (they showed part of this battle in **_**300: Rise of an Empire**_**, but they weren't overly concerned about accuracy). The term, Dark Númenóreans, as I've said in the last chapter, was so that the term 'Black Númenóreans' would not have to be used and thus sound offensive to modern audiences- they weren't even dark-skinned. And I know Glorfindel pledged service to **_**Elrond_ but I'm getting there. He was also supposed to arrive after the War of the Last Alliance, but I'm not the only one who makes it as he has a part to play in this. Sorry!_**

**_The One Ring has been made. And I know that they said Sauron forged it in secret, but I'm trying to reconcile both canon, the game The Shadow of Mordor, and the movies together, _and_ provide explanations as to why Sauron needed Celebrimbor's help to create the Rings of Power. He was a Maia of the Vala Smith Aulë, after all. Otorno is the Quenya word for a bond-brother and __Osellë__ for bond-sister. Sorry for the length!_**


	41. Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-One

For days and nights, Estela mourned. Ereinion was by her side every step of the way.

She mourned the loss of her brother in heart. Of his wife. And of the little girl that would never grow to live a life of her own. She mourned a wound she knew would never heal. It was the icing on the cake as some would say. It was too much.

No one yet knew that Celebrimbor, secretly, still lived- well, if one called _that _living. All they believed was that he had died under torture, and that his remains and those of his wife and child, had been impaled with arrows and used as trophies by Sauron.

The very thought made Ereinion shake with loathing and rage.

Even as she pulled herself back together, reminding herself that she still had a daughter at home, Estela knew something had to be done. No one told her what happened to Celebrimbor's body, or Silmiel's or Eleniel's. They judged it cruel and unwise.

But Estela made her way to Khazad-dûm or Moria, to meet with Durin III, King of the Dwarves.

The dwarf king rose from his throne and greeted the mourning Estela, dressed all in black, sombre garb, but with a rich braided girdle and a similar trim and jewellery made of onyx, jet and black pearl, as not to offend the Dwarven hosts. A black veil was cast over her hair to signify mourning and drawn over her face.

She curtsied lower than was necessary to Durin III- a fact that not all elves would be pleased about, if they didn't understand.

"Welcome, good Queen," Durin said. "Although I would wish to Mahal that we could welcome you under better days than this."

Estela nodded, and cast her veil back. "My good king, I thank you so sincerely from the bottom of my heart, for your and your warrior's involvement in trying to aid the brother of my heart, Celebrimbor."

"Peace." The dwarf waved the thanks aside. "I was only too glad to do it. Your cousin was a king amongst the creatures of Arda- ever had he dealt so graciously and warmly with us. Never had a friendship between our two races occurred such as this. I only wish I had succeeded and brought him and his family to safety before the cursed Sauron swept in."

Estela let out a sigh. "There was nothing you can do about him. Would I had at least been there, for the brother of my heart," She clutched her middle as grief threatened to rip her to shreds and bring her down.

Thoughtfully, Durin invited her to another hall, where she sat. A goblet of warm mead was given to her.

"So Sauron has taken him," Durin said darkly. "Whatever for? Vengeance?"

"My dreams have warned me," Estela whispered. "I do not believe it is mere vengeance, but Sauron used Celebrimbor. He wants a way to control the Rings of Power."

Durin's eyes widened. "You mean this?" He pulled off a ring from his hand.

Estela's eyes widened as she studied it. It was gold with a gem, similar to a ruby, set within it. The handiwork, she recognized as her cousin's.

"Yes, that is my cousin's work!" She gasped. "Did… Who gave it to you? I was certain he kept it hidden!"

Durin's eyes darkened. "It was an emissary of your cousin's- or so I believed. This elf was fair in form, yet he seemed so much more."

"Annatar," Estela whispered. "A guise of Sauron's."

Durin groaned and covered his face with his hand.

Estela touched his shoulder. "It is not your fault," she said quietly. "You could not have known. What I fear is what Sauron would do next. He can lie in wait like a predator, but he will never rest until all of Middle-Earth is his, and its people are all enslaved or annihilated. He needs neither food, nor rest, and every minute, more orcs come into his service, and he arms and readies them for battle. The forges of Mordor never rest, never put out its flames. Always do the forges of Barad-dûr light to put iron in the hands of orcs and trolls. Always in that barren wasteland, riddled with dry ash and poison, do the flames burn, and the orcs ready themselves for war."

Durin was silent.

Estela sighed. "I know not what comes next, but Sauron never sleeps. Always does he look for a way to gain strength in Middle-Earth. Númenor is gone because of him. And now I fear that he will take all. He did not hesitate to attack Minas Anor, nor Eregion. He does not care about sacrificing his own minions to get what he wants. And he has killed both our kin. He wants all." And as Durin absorbed this in silence, Estela thanked him for his hospitality and kindness and left.

* * *

Of course they had no idea, by now, Sauron's master plan had come into fruition.

And they had no idea what happened to Celebrimbor in actual truth.

Yes, they used his body as a banner. But was he truly gone? Little did they know, a ghostly wraith watched nearby with non-existent tears choking his soul and absent heart.

Silmiel and Fëarillië Eleniel, the little known wife and daughter to Celebrimbor, grandson of Feanor, Maker of the Rings of Power and Greatest Smith of the Second Age, were both dead. Sauron had forced Celebrimbor to watch as he struck them down.

And soon the War for Middle-Earth would begin.

Estela took a deep breath as she fingered the pendant given to her by Ereinion as a wedding gift. She never went without it now, even wearing it under her armour.

She sighed.

Celebrimbor's life was gone. Although she did not think anyone could ever get a hold of themselves after suffering such a loss as this, she managed to do so, and despite her grief, she went on and pulled through, doing her duty, and preparing the Lindon Elves for war when it came.

It was sad, she had done that many times before, and was forced to do this again. But this would be the last time.

She had no intention of suffering such a loss again, and she watched the warriors strike blows at one another. They were all quiet and bowed their heads respectfully, not looking into her eyes, whenever they sensed her presence. They did not need to. She could go on.

She had no choice.

Estela drew her sword. She was in her training clothes.

The sharp blade glinted and sparkled in the light.

"I'm ready," she whispered. "Please grant me this one wish, at least. Or two. After all I've done, do not let me outlive more of the people I love. Let my child be safe and live. Please. If not for me, then for the innocent children of Middle-Earth at least."

She had no idea they were listening to her prayer.

Up ahead the Valar saw all.

Manwë always saw better with Varda beside him. And Varda always heard better when they were together.

And so the Valar watched high up on Taniquetil, through the clouds and the gazes of the birds and the stars as Estela, the last scion- apart from her daughter, and secretly her son- of a proud warrior House (perhaps too proud at times), readied herself.

"Now comes the final test," Námo Lord of Mandos announced. "Now comes the test which decides the fate of the House of Fëanáro, son of Finwë and all their descendants. One that will decide the fate of the world, at the ending of all days. Now must she prepare herself, for fate which comes and dictates the lives of all who live and breathe in Arda.

"For she must choose. Does she have strength enough, for change?"

"Surely there has been change enough," Nienna exclaimed. "Surely she has proven herself? Surely we know her not to fail?"

"Maybe. But she must take the final step."

"And so it has begun," Manwë intoned. "The beginning of the end."

And the Valar observed solemnly with heavy hearts as the Children of Eru, prepared themselves for war against a terrible foe bent on ripping them to shreds.

Estela watched her sword silently for a while, the moonlight gleaming on the blade, reflecting off it and making it shine. Her life began in the night. Despite what people said about darkness and night being things of evil, they were wrong. Melkor never managed to subdue and capture Tilion who guided the moon. The elves had been awakened in Cuiviénen, by starlight which they loved the best. Estela herself had been born in the light of Telperion, shining as it had never before, as if speaking of a promise.

And now by the light of the moon, will Estela's and her daughter's destiny be decided.

It was the future. And Estela would not shy from it, the way others did.

Estela still mourned the loss of her bond-brother, but she had to go on. Somehow she sensed, all will be well soon, although she also sensed that the power of darkness would seek to consume all she loved.

Her mouth twisted in a wry smile. How did she sense these things? She and Teleprinquar- she would always remember his by that- had always been close. Even before Melkor's release on Valinor, and during the events that followed, both losing all, they had grown even closer.

Somehow, Estela would have peace. But even though she sought it throughout her torturous long life, she would reject it, never making peace unless all was right.

Perhaps it was that courage that endeared her to the Valar.

That night the stars shone bright, as if remembering Telperion's light.

* * *

Estela came to her daughter's nursery. She found her playing on the floor, and knelt, gathering the little girl to hold her close, and kissed her.

"_Ammë_," the little girl whispered. Estela held her and kissed her again, as if to spill onto her all the love and courage she had. She would need it. She knew she would.

"I love you, _melda seldë_." She whispered. "Forever and always. I'll love and protect you."

She hoped she would keep that promise.

She found Ereinion in the council room, with all the other councillors shut out, except for Elrond and Glorfindel.

"Now we begin. Now is the time we gather all our allies, and summon all the strength that we have, for the battle against Sauron. For at this moment, war is sure to come. And we must either stand together, or fall apart."

Estela regarded her husband solemnly.

"In that case," she came forwards, looking at the map. "We must first warn the Wood-Elves and the peoples of Gondor and Arnor. The various Northmen must come next. But we need to know where Sauron will strike."

"Arnor," Elrond said grimly. "He has failed in his attack in Gondor, he would commence to Arnor."

"I believe so," Glorfindel said.

"Then to Arnor we must send warning," Ereinion said.

* * *

_Minas Ithil…._

Isildur son of Elendil watched on the parapets and ramparts of the high walls of the city he built called Minas Ithil, the Tower of the Moon. It was well-constructed this place, built out of white marble, so much so that when the moon's glow fell upon them, the courtyards and the streets glowed and gleamed with silver light, as did the buildings.

Isildur's eyes narrowed as he beheld the landscape around the city.

He heard nothing. He saw nothing (obviously it was night!), and yet he felt something was wrong. Terribly, horribly wrong.

He turned to the guard-captain. "Alert the guards. Light more torches. Something is not right." The captain bowed and said, "Yes, sir," before leaving.

Isildur turned back to where he gazed. He frowned. Maybe it was his mind playing tricks on him. There was nothing to be afraid of. In any case, why is this night different from all the rest he had had in this city?

Just as he was turning away, however, an arrow launched out of nowhere and embedded itself squarely into a guard's chest. The man gasped and fell backwards. Right on que, more arrows came, Isildur cursed as he ducked for cover, and the guards beside him raised their shields to protect them from the onslaught.

"Sound the alarm!" Isildur's bellow sounded.

A bell tolled, and somewhere, a woman screamed.

Soon, a grappling hook appeared out of nowhere and attached itself onto the crenellations of the parapets. It was a grim and forbidding spider made out of black iron attached to a rope. Isildur hurried forwards and looked down.

Sure enough it was an orc at the end. He cursed and cut it. "Orcs!" He shouted. "We're under attack!" The men shouted warnings and the bell tolled louder.

More grappling hooks came.

And verily, did Isildur curse Sauron, though he and his wife and children managed to get themselves to safety.

* * *

Galadriel's blue eyes shone. "Sauron has attacked the city of Isildur, son of Elendil," she said gravely.

The mirror, swirling in the silver basin, did not show promising images.

"What can be done?" Celeborn sounded grim. "Is he still alive?"

"Yes, along with his wife and sons." Galadriel answered. "And most of the city has fled. Isildur is clever."

She was referring to the city's hidden passageways. But now the city was taken.

Isildur however, had managed to take a seedling from the White Tree which he planted there.

"Now we must warn Gil-Galad." Celeborn said. "Before the next move comes. When will he strike next?"

"Sauron will not strike yet." Galadriel paused. "However, we cannot wait."

* * *

Elendil, King of Gondor and Arnor and his sons, Isildur and Anárion, their wives and children welcomed the High King Gil-Galad and his wife officially in Minas Anor.

Once again they met, but this time, it was even more serious. This time was the survival of Middle-Earth.

The people of the city watched in awe, and countless jaws had dropped when the High Elven King and his Queen rode into the city in full ceremony, flanked by their warriors. Elves were still the stuff of fairy-tale and legend to them, and few had ever thought they would ever glimpse one.

Much less the High King and Queen. But as Gil-Galad's banners flew and fluttered high in the breeze, Estela had a bad, bad feeling that something had yet occur. And many hopes would be dashed.

Forcefully, she pushed it aside. Now was not the time. She dismounted and was greeted. Dressed in the full regalia of the High King's wife, Estela somehow managed to dress in fabrics and ornaments that drew attention, but were not cumbersome. _No wonder Ereinion dislikes such ceremonies,_ she thought moodily.

Elendil and his wife greeted her. She smiled and gave the customary greetings, but what Estela really wanted was to get on with it.

After- thankfully- as minimal an amount of ceremonies as possible, they were able to meet in private.

"So, Sauron attacks Arnor and Minas Ithil," Ereinion said grimly. "Previously he has tried to attack this city- and failed. He is cunning, and worse than the most treacherous being. Very soon he will strike again, I fear. We must do so before he does."

"I agree," Elendil said. And Estela noted what kingship had done to him. He looked as strong, imposing and regal as ever, but there were lines around his eyes and mouth, and grey in his hair and beard.

It was the stress, worry and burden of ruling, she thought. She had seen it in Tar-Palantir. She wasn't a fool. Ruling made kings of men age prematurely. At least he looked strong and healthy.

"Sauron will want to strike somewhere where we will not be able to aid one another," Ereinion said. "He will want to catch us unawares. He learns from every mistake he has made. And the mistakes of his master, Morgoth. He is not one to repeat them."

"But when and where shall we strike then?" Elendil asked. "And forgive me, for although I am far from ungrateful, I do not think all the elves in Lindon's realms and Rivendell, along with all the warriors of Gondor and Arnor will be enough to fight Sauron. As it was, we barely made it last time."

"Yes," Ereinion said. "Which is why we will need more alliances." Elendil stopped and stared.

"An alliance," Ereinion said quietly. "An alliance between the Elves, Humans and Dwarves of Middle-Earth. Between all the Free Peoples of this land who do not lie under the subjugating strength of Sauron. A Last Alliance- for all hope, after this, we shall have peace. Never before has all the banners in Middle-Earth united into one to fight a common foe. And never again shall it be so, if we will succeed and Sauron fail."

"Yes," Elendil breathed. "Yes, let it be so. A Last Alliance between the Free Peoples of Middle-Earth. Whereupon the evil that plague this world shall be no more!" And whereupon the Last Alliance was born.

Word was sent out to every corner of Middle-Earth that stood free. The Northmen of the Rhovanion and those who lived near Greenwood the Great and bore relations to the Dúnedain, answered the call. The men who were hardened and strong from the harsh winters that ripped through their lands. The Men known as the Éothéod, who would one day be known as the Lords of Rohan, the Rohirrim, answered the call, the golden-haired lords who mastered their horses in the way few men ever did.

The dwarves of the Long-beard clan under Durin III, friend and steadfast ally to Celebrimbor answered the call, the great master smiths and warriors, who were notoriously tough and hardy, resistant to pain and weariness. They wanted vengeance for the kin slaughtered under Sauron, and for Celebrimbor their friend and ally. The Elves of Imladris under Elrond's guidance came to them, and pledged their support. And after much heated debate and argument, the elves of Lothlórien and Greenwood came as well, although many feared the onslaught, they knew they would fall if Sauron gained enough strength and victories, and could never under any circumstances, stand alone in a fight against Mordor.

The cities of Gondor and Arnor, and Lindon prepared themselves. The sound of hammering and fires burned in the forges. The horses were constantly examined and looked-after. More and more volunteers joined to become soldiers and the courtyards, streets and even gardens, peaceful places as they once were, rang with the sound of swords, spears, arrows flying from bows, daggers and knives. Shields were tested. Armour was fitted. Supplies were gathered and counted. War was in the air.

Everyone said prayers, and prayed very hard. To Eru All-Father, to the Valar and the Ainur still remaining in the Timeless Halls. All prayed desperately for victory against evil.

_Is this the life I want? _Estela wondered. Did she become a shieldmaiden to survive, to redeem the names of her kin, to save others, or because she _wanted_ to? Of course she would never think of sitting down and twiddle her thumbs while others fought the battle to save all Middle-Earth, but did she feel inclined to this sort of life? Adventure and hardship? Triumph? The swing of a sword, the speed of a horse?

In Valinor, she had been the happiest child. She never wanted for anything, because she thought that life would never end. But then it did. She lost her home and her family, one by one, while their name was ruined. She was only desperate to keep them safe. And her husband and children. But anything else?

Destiny and fate had more of a hand in her life, than she did.

Her mind wondered back to Vorondo, and the promise he had made to her.

And then to her friends, Elendil and his family.

Estela had woven a banner- a jet black silk one, with silvery-white threads stitched to form seven stars under which grew the White Tree of Gondor. She gave it to them.

"My mother named me Hope." She said. "And so I gave hope to the Eldar. But I have kept none for myself. Somehow, I know, that sometime, you and your kin will know of such a sacrifice, for your own people."

Estela wove another banner. This one with especial meticulous care, and love. The banner of Gil-Galad. The High King. A field of stars in royal blue. Like a star-covered sky. Just for him, she had woven with such overflowing love and care, like she had never demonstrated on her other weavings. But the Free Peoples would see this banner, and they would have hope, and be strengthened, harkened to fight and win victorious battles against the forces of Mordor.

She gave it to Ereinion in secret, emotion threatening to overflow and bring them down, as she passed it to him.

"For you, my love," she whispered. "So all may have hope. My mother named me hope, but if there is any of that left within me, I give it to you, my heart and only love."

And somehow, it felt like a warning of a farewell.

Ereinion had looked at her, and instantly kissed her. He held her, knowing that they might not have many opportunities for this in the days ahead.

* * *

The sons of Isildur and Anárion watched wide-eyed as their fathers clashed swords in practice.

Anárion gritted his teeth and hammered his sword against his brother. A grinning Isildur blocked his blow and smashed his sword against his brother's only to be blocked with strength. The two sought other ways to best the other.

Again they tried. The sons of Elendil were evenly matched. Estela watched from the shadows. She mused to herself that the brothers were so wise and experienced, knowing the pain of war and grief, and yet could find light in this small thing.

Again, her mind wandered. To the day she saw Findekáno sparring with her father. It was just like that.

How they had laughed with bright joy. Her father never laughed after her mother had died.

And she did not see him laugh the last time she set her eyes on him.

Estela shook herself out of her thoughts when the match was over. She couldn't remember which brother won, but the victor laughed, and so did the other.

"Bested me, huh?" She heard one of them ask.

"Perhaps you would have, if you had been paying attention to-" she lost track of the playful banter.

Estela stepped forwards. The two stopped and stared, while the children and guardsmen gasped and gaped.

Estela smiled. "Good morning. I hope I wasn't intruding. I merely wished to see you spar."

Isildur recovered himself. "Not at all, my lady. You are welcome here any time."

Estela gave a smile but it was strained. "My lady," Anárion said quietly. "We are sorry for the loss of your great cousin."

Estela sighed. "Greatness. My cousin. I loved him as a brother. To me, he _was _my brother. And yet, we never had the freedom of Men."

"Ar-Pharazôn was a fool to take it for granted," Isildur said quietly. Just by looking at her, and hearing her tale long before they met, he could easily tell that immortality was not always a blessing for her. Far from it.

"Pride blinds all," Estela responded. "That is something I have learnt. Whether they be Men, Elves or Dwarves."

Isildur and Anárion nodded. "And these are your children?" Estela asked, smiling at the tiny humans staring with eyes as massive as a banquet's platters.

"Yes," Anárion said. He gestured at them. "These are Elendur, Aratan and Ciryon, my brother's sons and Auron, Náretar, Melehton and Meneldil, my sons." Estela smiled warmly at the eight boys whose faces reddened.

"No daughters, though?" She asked.

Isildur flushed. "None, my lady, though my wife prays every night for at least one, and I wouldn't be adverse to it either. She expects another child soon."

"I pray that this one would live long and happily," Estela said sincerely, and Isildur smiled.

Estela chuckled. Then her eyes fell onto the youngest son of Anárion. Meneldil. Yes, that was his name. He was twelve years old. That meant that he was born one year before Númenor fell. What was it like she wondered, to know that one had been born in a place and had a home apart from this that one would never see.

All because of Ar-Pharazôn's pride, greed and ambition.

She smiled, sadly this time. At least he would never grow to miss it- but he may yearn to look at it.

Of course she did not, and would never question the Will of the All-Father, of course. Never in a million years.

Never, ever again. Not the Valar, and certainly by far, _not _the All-Father.

"May I spar, also?" Estela asked teasingly. Anárion raised his eyebrows. "Why not?" He asked. He turned to his brother, a smile on his face.

Isildur shrugged. "Shall I be your sparring partner?" He asked. He grinned sheepishly. "I admit, I've heard tales of your fighting. And I've never fought a shieldmaiden before."

Estela inclined her head.

She and Isildur took their places.

Estela breathed deeply, but silently. She held herself steady, and did not twitch. She waited for him to make the first move. It was one of the things her father taught her. If a trained swordsperson waited for their opponent to make their first move, then he or she would be able to guess the opponent's style of fighting, and the way their mind works. As it was she waited for Isildur to make his move.

And he did. He charged, Estela moved slightly and blocked it.

When he struck again, Estela was expecting it. She blocked it.

The two clashed swords.

Although the art of war can never be called beautiful, there is a willowy elegance and liquid grace in the way they moved, especially in Estela. Something breath-taking, and otherworldly. An ethereal grace that seemed to emit light.

Isildur attempted to strike at her very heart, but Estela deflected his blow, and pushed it away, spinning to the side. Every time he struck, she blocked and deflected. Once he struck to her right, and she spun to the right, and came at him with a swing, not a series of strikes, and Isildur was by now already hard-pressed and desperate- panicking in fact, his eyes wide.

Estela defeated Isildur, alright. And he dropped his sword, shocked and astonished.

She lowered her blade. "Don't worry, it does not mean your skill is lacking."

"Although I may disagree," Isildur said quietly, breathless. "Your skill is unmatched. And I have much to learn in comparison to you. Who was it that taught you, my lady?"

Estela's face fell. "My father." She said quietly. "Although he never allowed me to wield a sword outside of practice."

"Ah." Isildur said. "Forgive me, once again I have been careless with my words."

Estela smiled slightly. "It is no wrong of yours." She sheathed her blade. "Though usually I wield two blades not one."

Isildur was about to enquire further, when Anárion and the children who had watched them utterly breathless and in a shocked awe, stood and cheered. "Breath-taking." Anárion whispered. "Astounding! I have never seen such a fight."

Estela smiled. How she was reminded of that day she saw her father and Findekáno fight. But it was no use dwelling on that.

"I am glad you enjoyed it." She smiled. "Your brother is quite a foe to meet in the battlefield. No wonder the orcs are terrified." Anárion grinned.

"Perhaps you would care to practice again, with my husband as well, when we are able?" She asked. Isildur nodded. "It would be a tremendous honour, my lady." She smiled warmly at the brothers and their offspring.

Later, she met her husband in their suite. "What is it?" She asked. He gave a pained smile, his eyes shimmering with a powerful emotion.

"A letter from Vanimelda," he said quietly. "She says she misses us, and sends us both a great deal of love and a painting. I miss her too, far too painfully."

Estela sighed. She looked away. "For an immortal it seems as if I am always running out of time to spend with the ones I love. I wonder if anything will ever be set right."

"What makes you say it won't?" Ereinion asked.

Estela sighed. "Perhaps you're right."

She sat and paused for a while. "What do you think of the sons of Elendil?" She asked.

He looked startled at this question.

"I think they are great and honourable men." Ereinion said quietly. "Although part of that reason is that because they have done so much for their peoples and for others, yet seek little glory and reward for themselves."

"Yes." Estela paused. "Just what I thought. They ask for so little, yet give so much. It astounds me. They are completely unlike the ones Sauron has corrupted."

Her husband gave a wry smile. "Isn't that why they've succeeded after all this time?"

She paused again. "Do you think that they miss Númenor?"

Ereinion was silent. "I think they missed what Númenor used to be, and mourned its loss," he said quietly. "But I think in the end, that they said goodbye to Númenor a long time ago. What their former home was in the end, was not what it once was. And therefore they could not count the land Ar-Pharazôn ruled as their home."

Estela absorbed this in silence.

If only it were so easy for her. And yet, she wondered, if she could return to Valinor and all that they fought for succeeded, would it still be the same? Or would some wounds go too deep for healing, and scars run too wide to be unnoticed?

Ereinion seemed to sense her thoughts and touched her hand. He drew them closer together and held her tightly, as if he would never let her go. At least she had them, but if time taught her something, especially with Celebrimbor's loss that so recently occurred, it was that every minute was more precious than _mithril_ and the Silmarils her grandfather fought so hard to regain.

* * *

"And now, we come to this," the High King announced.

Estela watched solemnly as her husband made his address.

"For this past year, Sauron has made three attacks. He has attacked Minas Anor which has failed. But success comes to him in the form of dark victories over Eregion and Minas Ithil. Now, he seeks another victory, and soon more, to add to his hoard of mass-graves and broken cities." Ereinion intoned.

"He does not move against one particular person, but all. For few knows where he will strike, and fewer what schemes he holds in his thrall. And for such, all the more dangerous is he, who takes the name of Dark Lord of all the earth and seeks to conquer in success where Morgoth has failed."

Everyone looked grim or sick with the notion of this.

"Alas, great king," a voice echoed somewhere nearby. Everyone's eyes turned to Durin III, King of the Longbeard clan and Khazad-dûm.

"For hearing this, I must bring you all gravest and most terrible news that breaks the hearts of my people, of another victory of Sauron's."

Everyone muttered and whispered fearfully amongst themselves. Shaking their heads, many paled and looked sick, wondering what was coming next.

"Sauron has invaded and taken the Mountain of Gundabad."

Gasps echoes throughout the room. "What?" Estela hissed, hands clenching the arms of her chair. "The sacred mountain of your people? The mountain in which Durin, your forefather and namesake awoke?"

"Alas, my lady," grieved Durin. "Yes. The very same. Would my creator strike me down, and banish me from my forefather's halls for the shame I have had to endure, to see the sacred mountain, defiled and in the hands of our great Enemy!" He wept. "For not even Morgoth had done such a deed!"

They were speechless. For the elves, it might as well have been that if Sauron had taken Cuiviénen, their sacred place of awakening. What a shattering, horrible, indescribably terrible blow this must be to the dwarves! Even those that did not like them felt their very hearts shake with pity.

Estela was too shocked to respond. Turning her very eyes to her husband, even he seemed too shocked and moved to say anything for the present. How can anyone convey one's sympathies and offer ordinary condolences at such a loss?

"When did this happen?" He asked quietly.

Durin raised his shame, and grief-riddled eyes towards the High Elven King.

"Not three moons past." Durin said quietly. Tears streaked his face.

"And so it has begun." Ereinion said grimly. "And so it shall continue," Estela said, surprising everyone.

"Gundabad, the sacred mountain and birthplace of the Dwarves." She said quietly. "Sauron will strike again. Have no doubt. He will strike and strike until he can take all. We can either join together, or fall apart. Remember the failings of the War of Wrath. The disunity of _everyone_ involved." She emphasized the word and placed volume on the last sentence.

"What happened during the War of Wrath? What happened to our peoples? What made them all fail so _miserably_ during the War against Morgoth?" She gave a harsh laugh. "It wasn't Morgoth's power. No, otherwise he would have taken the whole of Middle-Earth by the end of it. Let us face the blunt and brutal truth of the fact: If it weren't for the Valar, all of us, Noldor and Sindar elves alike, the Dwarves of all the clans, the humans, would have been squashed and pummelled into oblivion, unresisting and accepting without thought, of the darkness." She laughed harshly and bitterly again and she emphasized the last words, as she shocked everyone, for none of them had ever heard of her willingly mentioned the War of Wrath, and to belittle all, many of the elves had been alive during such a period, caused many to mutter and look indignant and shocked.

"You deny it? No victory was ever won by the Free Peoples of Middle-Earth. _Nothing_ was." She drawled, with an even stronger emphasis on the word '_nothing_'. It was the closest she had ever come to a sneer and it was not a pretty sound to put it mildly, shocking that it came from one so fair.

"The Valar instead came to our aid. Why because everyone could not put aside their petty quarrels and their own personal agendas. My own kin, consumed they were for their oath of vengeance and the quest for those thrice-cursed and forsaken gems!" She declared. "Would I have known and destroyed them, before any could set their eyes upon them!" Everyone looked too shocked for words, flabbergasted and appalled. For one to say such things of one's own kin and forebears, even if they were kinslayers… And to say such things about the wondrous gem, one of which adorned the brow of Eärendil and sailed across the night sky as their most beloved star… But it was understandable.

"And the others that preferred to tuck their feet in, to stay out of this war, or to involve themselves, personally for their own benefit." She hissed venomously, thinking of Lúthien, Beren and Elu Thingol who didn't care a whit. "No one came to the aid of those slaughtered, lest they be the ones who ended up slaughtered themselves before the very end. Why? Because they could not get over their own personal issues. And look what happened! Morgoth had a footing in this world! We were nearly reduced to less than filth, taken to the depths of Angband, tortured and bred to be new orcs." Everyone looked aghast and many even looked sick.

"What next? Cuiviénen?" Estela demanded. "The sacred place of awakening for the Elves? If Gundabad is taken, the sacred birthplace of the Dwarves, why not Cuiviénen, the birthplace of the race whom Morgoth hated above all else, save the Dúnedain. Morgoth's slave still lingers, and he is even fouler and more cunning than his old master, for even Morgoth did not think of taking the cradle of any race! Who do you think thought of the plan to deal with Túrin Turambar? To deal with his father, his sisters, his lover Finduilas? Who planted such a foul and abominable seed in Morgoth's mind? Only Sauron, Gorthaur, the Abhorred! "

Everyone let out a gasp of shock, and many even made signs to ward off evil, or chanted silent prayers to the Valar and the All-Father.

Ereinion closed his eyes.

"Does anyone here, be foolish enough to think that the Valar will come to our aid this time?" Estela asked quietly, but everyone could hear her. "Valinor is now a world away, ripped out of Arda, and all those who go there, cannot come back, even to bring aid! And even if they can, do you think the Valar can help us a second time? They already directly interfered once, and there are rules in place, which prevent them from directly interfering in the smallest and greatest of problems in Middle-Earth for every day of our lives. Laws they cannot bend. Even if they wished, you all know, this is for a reason. And we are on our own." She sat back down.

"The Queen is right," Ereinion said quietly disturbing the silence that had befallen everyone. "We are on our own. And now we have a choice. We can either join forces to combat the overwhelming threat of Mordor, or we can all hide and wait to be picked apart separately. But know this: no matter where we are, no matter how far we go, nor how deep we hide, Sauron sees all. And he will always finds us. No matter what. His eye pierces through the minds of all, and seeks to hunt and destroy us, until there is no one left save his orcs, _ungols_ and himself. He will never eat. He will never sleep. He will _never_ stop destroying all."

Everyone was silent still, and looked at one another. Ereinion sat back down. "The choices are yours," he said quietly. "Do not say that pushed you into this, nor my wife, nor Elendil and his noble heirs. But here and now, I have given you all a choice. To choose whether to stand separately and await destruction on your own, and accept no aid of any kind, from those who stand far away, or to face all our problems together, rather than ignoring and pretending it doesn't exist like we did in the War of Wrath."

No one liked to admit it, but everyone did, for the most part, have their own issues to deal with during that war.

And now Sauron had just proven his strength, his intentions, and his evil. They really didn't stand a chance, just as they never did during the War of Wrath. Not unless they were together.

Everyone said nothing. Until Durin III himself rose and stood.

"I know not what the others will say." He said, strength growing back into his own voice. But and my people for one, will not hide and cower waiting to be devoured like mice in their holes, before the cat comes. We are not cowards. We are not prey," he growled. "And we will never be cowards. I choose to stand and fight, to save my people before the beast comes to our doorsteps once again. I will not wait helplessly for aid." He looked grim when he said this.

"By Durin the Deathless and Mahal's hammer, I, Durin, scion of the former's line, pledge the alliance of the Dwarves of Khazad-dûm and the Longbeard clan against the might of evil."

Ereinion nodded at the Dwarf king before all, and before long Durin himself was joined by a disgusted-looking Oropher who seemed upset that the dwarf had chosen to speak before him. His son also looked far from pleased.

"I will stand and fight for my people," he said. "And no one shall call us helpless or cowardly prey, waiting to be swallowed by the oncoming wall of night. I fight and I will give my all, and spare nothing, to protect my people, if need be. I will not fear death, nor stand idly while darkness falls."

One by one, everyone in the room pledged alliance. The Northmen who knew they could not win this on their own, even the humans of Gondor and Arnor and the elves of Lindon who hosted this meeting and invited all.

"Now it has begun," Ereinion said, solemnly. "Let this be the last time we draw swords together against such an evil. Let such a thing never take place, in all the days of Arda. Let this be the Last Alliance."

And so the Last Alliance was born.

* * *

_**I think we all know that Estela turned out to be right when she said words that will hauntingly echo in a descendant of Isildur's, or at least, his wife. When Aragorn's mother says the line in Sindarin, " I gave hope to the **_**_Dúnedain_. _I have kept no hope for myself."_ _Elrond and Aragorn repeated this line_**_** in Return of the King. Mount Gundabad is known as an orc stronghold, but was once considered sacred, as Durin the Deathless, Thorin's ancestor and 'Father of the Dwarves' was awakened there. However in the late Second Age, the mountain was invaded and overrun by orcs. The dwarves eventually got it back, but they deserted the place for reasons unclear. Probably because the orcs had tainted it and it was no longer habitable. Minas Ithil was also taken, though Isildur, his wife and children escaped. It later became Minas Morgul. Minas Anor is Minas Tirith.**_


	42. Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Two

It was done. There was nothing they could do about it, save to prepare for war. The impassioned speech she had given him had been given in bitterness, but had been a slap on the faces on everyone, forcing to open their eyes to reality and common sense. Everyone barely survived Sauron, if ever.

Estela had been spending as much time as she could steal with Vanimelda. The little girl's mind was sharp and growing at a speeding rate, even for an elf's mind. Her body, of course, remained as small as ever- a baby really.

Again she thought about both her children and what this would mean for them. She just prayed they would succeed before her daughter was doomed to grow up beneath the darkness.

Or worse. Dead. Like Eleniel. Or consumed. Like her brother.

The Wood-Elves came to Lindon soon enough.

And it was the first time many of them had heard that Gil-Galad had a daughter.

Estela had been teaching the girl to weave. Vanimelda picked it up so speedily that her mother was both impressed and proud. She was using a miniature hand-loom that she held upon her lap. Vanimelda was also learning to read and write in Quenya, Sindarin, Adûnaic and Westron. She preferred Quenya, and so did Estela, but she was also fluent in Sindarin and Westron. Adûnaic she was quickly absorbing like water into a sponge, and she was eager to start learning more languages- the Telerin Dialect, and more. She had mastered the Tengwar which her forefather had invented. She wanted to learn Khuzdul. Estela smiled sadly at the eager innocence and hunger for knowledge that children had.

Music lessons also took place. The harp was favoured by her, and Estela had to wince inwardly at the memory it invoked of her lost uncle, whom she had given up for dead.

Perhaps she would see him again.

Vanimelda smiled as she walked by her mother's side. Estela paused as she noted the Wood-Elves talking in front of the fountain in the courtyard.

She noticed Thranduil talking with his companions. So, it appeared that Vanimelda wasn't going to be as secret as she would have liked to have kept her.

But surely such a thing would be considered futile by others. Except that her father and mother had successfully managed it for roughly an Age, her uncles too.

Thranduil's companion caught sight of the Noldorin Queen, and nudged the prince. Startled, he turned. Vanimelda was hiding behind her mother's skirts.

"Prince Thranduil," Estela said in Sindarin. "Welcome. I must say, I did not expect this."

He smiled. "My lady. Neither did I, but my father insisted." His brow furrowed, as he caught sight of the movement behind her skirts. "But, forgive me, if I may ask…"

Estela sighed. She should trust her allies more. It was something her husband had said to her. She looked down. "Come out, _penneth_." She said in Sindarin.

Slowly, shyly, Vanimelda came out from behind her mother's skirts. Thranduil's eyes widened in shock when he caught sight of the child, and his companions gasped.

Estela couldn't blame them. Vanimelda was breath-taking- impossibly beautiful, truly lovely to behold. In twilight she seemed to shine and glitter with the light of the stars.

It was the Maia blood, but she certainly would not blabber such a thing around.

"Prince Thranduil, my daughter, Vanimelda. Melda, meet Prince Thranduil of Greenwood.

Thranduil stared. "I did not know you had a daughter."

Estela knew he would have said 'we'. "It is best in such perilous times with the Enemy rampant to keep such an information as safe as possible. Bu we are allies, are we not?"

Prince Thranduil knelt in front of the child. She stared at him with her eyes, more luminous than gems. He extended a hand out in greetings. She blushed and shyly took it.

"_Vanimelda Aranel_," Thranduil said, surprising everyone with his fluent command of Quenya. "Greetings and blessings. _Elen síla lúmenn' omentielvo_."

A star shines in the hour of our meeting. The old greeting.

Melda blushed adorably, her eyes as large as saucers. She performed a curtsy to Thranduil who chuckled softly.

He rose. "Quite a surprise," he said. "She is like no other child that ever was. I pray she will flourish in the absence of darkness." He rose.

"I pray so too," Estela said quietly. "Do you have any children?" She asked by way of changing conversation.

He nodded. "A son. Hopefully more someday. He is around the same age as your daughter here."

Estela smiled. She had good feelings for the boy. Hopefully, he was as strong and brave as his father was. A special child, he must have been.

"I've never seen eyes like hers," he remarked. "They're quite extraordinary."

Estela paused. "Yes. My mother had eyes like those."

"Ah." No more was said. "Forgive me, I had no intention of-" but she shook her head. "No need for forgiveness." She smiled. "We are friends and allies. But my husband is currently occupied- unless you have already seen him?" She enquired.

"Soon, we are told. I do not blame him. Being a king is never easy, and these are darker times than most." Thranduil's face darkened.

Just then they spotted Círdan coming out. Estela raised an eyebrow. Apparently he was seeking Thranduil out. Though he didn't expect Estela and her daughter to be there.

"Ah," Estela said, not wishing to impose her presence simply because she was a queen. "Now I must take my leave. Pray excuse me, Prince Thranduil, but there are other things to do."

She left with Vanimelda.

"So, what did you think of the Greenwood Prince?" She asked her daughter.

"He's nice," she said shyly. "And kind. He also _feels_…"

"Feels?" Estela asked puzzled. "Well… he doesn't feel nothing when people say something really nice, or something really mean. He feels something. He's not icy, Amil."

"You mean he's sensitive?" Estela asked. "That's the word for it."

"Yes."

Estela paused. "Well, I suppose it's true. He cares for his people and loved ones very much, Prince Thranduil."

"Is there such a thing as too much?" Melda asked, wide eyes inquisitive.

Estela thought for a moment, haunted by the pain and loss she felt throughout her life. And of the Oath her father and uncles took to avenge their grandfather at the behest of their maddened, grief-stricken father.

"Perhaps. You shall have to figure that out yourself. It is not something to be taken lightly, however."

Melda looked into the distance.

"I feel like he's amazing and special," she admitted. "I also feel that there's something that's going to happen to us all- and we don't have a lot of time. Do you?"

* * *

Isildur sighed, and rubbed his forehead.

Things were going even worse than planned.

He glanced at his father, talking to Gil-Galad, a distance away on the beach.

"Something troubles you, Prince Isildur?" He heard a feminine voice say and turned to see Queen Estela, looking curiously at him.

"Not too much," he replied, turning back to the view. He made room, as she came and stood beside him.

There was silence. Isildur didn't think he could speak, even to fill the silence, for the loss that she felt, that still plagued her. The numb, horrible emptiness that came after the pain. He knew loss well enough. He'd lost his birthplace and first home, he'd lost many family-members and friends, to shame and dishonour, and death. And he had the awful, horrible, sickening feeling that it wasn't the end.

He exhaled. "What happens in the next few months… or years…" He couldn't continue.

Estela was silent. "Ereinion wants it to be over quicker than the War of Wrath. There is a chance that with so many allies, willing to put an end to this, rather than standing idle, means that there is a chance."

"And what do you believe?" He asked quietly. His grey eyes looked at her sombrely.

"That we are all foolish if we are to believe that this war will be over before we know it. And that Sauron is less strong and formidable than he is. He is not to be underestimated. One can never be too prepared. For anything."

Isildur's shoulders slumped. He knew she was telling the truth. She even had had more battle experience than him. Still, it was not something he liked to admit or hear to say out loud.

"Your wife is in Imladris?" Estela asked. Isildur nodded.

"She is expecting our youngest child." He replied. "My father believed that with the invasion of Minas Ithil, and the attack on Minas Anor, means that the next time we might not be so lucky. If we are cut off, with little chance to escape or gain supplies…" he trailed off. "At Rivendell, at least all the children would be safe."

Estela nodded sagely. "It's quiet." She said. "Like a diver, taking a deep breath. Or a predator lying in wait. Even a sword or an arrow flying through the air, before finding its target. It makes many feel a strange mixture of both calm serenity and fearful tension."

"Indeed." Isildur replied. "I know it all too well."

"Your brother will remain in Gondor," Estela inquired, looking at him. "I heard that your father has asked him to look to the defending of Osgiliath and Minas Anor."

Isildur nodded. "Anárion will be more than capable. As will we all."

Estela went silent again, pressing her lips together before asking, "Have you heard of any rumours about human leaders acting strangely lately, or accumulating great wealth or gaining success in the battlefield, that have not joined the Alliance?" She asked him.

He stared at her. "No, why?"

Estela pressed her lips together again. "The Rings," Isildur realised. "You wonder whom Sauron has given the Nine Rings to."

"They were taken by him when Eregion fell,' Estela said. "That is our belief. We could find no such thing amongst the smouldering remains of buildings and he dead."

Isildur went quiet. "Could they have possibly come to his side, without us knowing?" He asked.

"I do not know." Estela said quietly. "I was hoping you would tell me. They are your people, Isildur, no matter how different they are. If you are a powerful human leader and a fair and shining stranger comes at your doorstep, and offers you gifts that might save your people and offer them and your family protection, wealth and power, what would you do?"

Isildur swallowed. "If I were desperate enough I would take them. I might also take them if I were a greedier, cowardly and desperate individual."

Estela closed her eyes.

"Sauron would take them. He would bind them to him. Their bodies would wither and eventually fade, until all their lifeblood is leeched out of them, and disappears, like acid burning through metal. Their very identities would disappear into nothing, even within their memories. Their names, their feelings for others, the traits that make them who they are, likes and dislikes, temperament, all their memories, until what is left- something less than the mere shadow of a _fëa_\- is leached solely to him. They feed on his emotions, his strength and desire to destroy and annihilate. They feel his rage, his hate, his malice and his desire for power and dominion over all and do as he instructs. They feel the need, the want- the power, to do as Sauron wills. That is what I have been told. They will no longer be themselves. They will not even be human- or any being under the sun, which they will shun worse than death."

Isildur swallowed again. He was unable to speak. Thankfully he was spared that when a soldier came to them.

"What is it?" He frowned. Estela did not even flicker and eyelid.

Everything seemed much too cold for Isildur, though.

"Forgive me, my lady, my lord, but the King requests your presence, sir, in the throne room." Isildur frowned. "He has an important mission for you, my lord."

Isildur frowned and Estela nodded. "Good fortune," she said.

"My lady," The soldier bowed. Estela nodded and turned back to the horizon.

Her green eyes narrowed as she looked out. There, just over the mountains, that served as a fence, a barrier of great promise but now seemed to lack fallibility, was the land of Mordor. The _Ephel Dúath_, the Mountains of Shadow, they were called. They were less like mountains and more like the most solid and towering of walls, letting not the tiniest beam of light through, nor the slightest thing happening on the other side show. Yet, always did the shadow hover over them, the sun did not shine there, Estela realised. Of course not. Orcs hated the sun, they found it painful, impossible, or at least unbearably difficult, to see through. And so would the Nine.

It wasn't the dark that people feared, but what hid inside the dark. And the forces of evil hated being laid bare for all to see.

The wall of mountains would not keep Sauron's armies in, nor would they keep Gondor's people safe.

Estela's beautiful, delicate face hardened. It was as if her son's loss and fear for her daughter had crumbled and shattered her from within, inside out, tearing out the anchors that held her steady, ripping out everything that made her what she is and kept her safe and going inside for so long. But now Celebrimbor's death shamed Estela, and served to steel her and remind her who she once was. The person that everyone needed to deal the death-blow to Sauron, hopefully, when the time came.

She would love it so. And she was ashamed and embarrassed for letting herself go like that. Never again, she vowed. Never!

She would be tortured like her cousin and burnt alive in the fires of Mount Doom before that happened again!

* * *

Isildur's wife glowed and gazed in awe, wonder and complete love at her new-born son, handed to her by Lord Elrond. Isildur himself was next to her, holding them close and kissing and blessing the child with tears of joy and pride in his eyes.

And then, according to Dúnedain tradition, the boy was handed to his father.

"His name is Valandil," Isildur announced, with quiet, shining pride. The glowing father held him up and said the ritual words he forgot to speak. "And I call him my own."

Of course he accepted the boy. Only the most heartless never would. But it was tradition, since in Númenor of late, the King's Men had taken to keeping concubines and mistresses- women for their own pleasure, whilst officially marrying multiple wives. Some even committed unspeakable acts with their own kin, like Ar-Pharazôn, for example, and as a result their offspring were born stunted, in body, mind or both. Women even had affairs.

The boy was sprinkled with water on his father's knee using a twig of the White Tree, with a few leaves. The father blessed the boy. After sprinkling him water- they really should have done this one month later in a proper ceremony, but this was wartime- he was wrapped up and his father took him to present him to the outside world whereupon a chosen herald announced him to be Valandil son of Isildur of the House of Elendil. "Hail Valandil!" He shouted. "Hail Valandil!" the crowd responded in turn, cheering and clapping loudly.

Estela observed this nearby and smiled sadly.

Her son was never received so joyously, she thought with pain and guilt. And how she missed him! And her daughter! How she wished they could be together, but she would not lament on that. Her son never even received an _Essecarmë_.

Elrond came and stood next to her.

"So," he said.

Estela was silent. "I do not know why I say this," she said. "But it bears upon me that this son of Isildur has a future and a strong and mighty line will arise- but the strength shall fail, and is in danger of being put out, like a flame of a candle."

Elrond was very quiet. "I thought so too." He stared at her. "You have a marvellous ability for one who is not a seer."

Estela's lips quirked and she moved to congratulate the new parents, the older brothers and to bless the infant herself.

* * *

Estela was dressed in a gown of pale green, which complimented the clearness and brightness of her eyes. Her throat was adorned with a massive sapphire the size of a chicken egg, on a _mithril_ chain and she had a matching circlet-diadem. The gown had a pearl trim on the hem and adorning the elbows of her sleeves, a sapphire and jade girdle graced her waist. Estela sighed, as she felt the luxury and quality of the silk. She should be in armour. She should have two swords at her hip, or on her hands, not dressed like this in such times.

_It doesn't feel right, _she thought. But now Ereinion needed her to play the part of a queen, not a shieldmaiden.

Estela scowled when no one was looking. She wanted a sword. She wanted to kill orcs.

She wanted to avenge her son.

The thought froze her cold.

She couldn't. She didn't want to. She can't. She wanted to cure him. She wanted justice. She didn't want vengeance.

Always had she had prevented such thoughts and feelings from taking root within her mind, heart and _fëa_. Or in the very least squashed it.

Her grandfather wanted vengeance, and looked what happened next. He might have had good reason to do so, but what happened afterwards….

She wanted to defeat Sauron. And all evil. She would not go mad the way her grandfather did. She never would.

"My lady, are you alright?" A concerned voice called out. She blinked and registered the arrival of an elf with brown hair, and fine-chiselled features.

"Yes, perfectly alright…" She looked inquiringly at the unfamiliar elf. "Lindir, my Queen."

"Lindir." She affirmed, and gave a brief smile before continuing on.

"Thank you." She kept going.

The Great Hall in Imladris was large, but nowhere near as large as Lindon's. Ereinion smiled and nodded to her, taking her hand.

"I hope this business will be short," he admitted. "I'm not eager for long hours of feasting."

"To say the least," Estela muttered. "Remind me, why are we celebrating so much? Is it Valandil's naming feast?"

"Yes, and no." Ereinion responded. "There are more people to meet, more alliances to be made." She stared at him?

"Who?"

"You'll see," was all he said before she settled her hand on his arm, they both faced forwards and the doors flew open.

Everyone stood for their entrance, something Estela secretly disliked. But she bore it well enough.

Something was up with Ereinion however. As the King and Queen of the Noldor greeted and congratulated Isildur and his family again, Estela stole a glance at her husband.

It was good of Isildur and his family to share their son's naming feast with such an important event as the hopeful forging of new alliances.

Estela sat and food was brought out, but she barely ate. Wine in her goblet went untouched save for a few sips. Her emerald eyes scanned the hall for any newcomers.

There were Dwarves, alright. Many of them presenting their gifts to Valandil's parents. A stab of pain went through her at the thought of Telpe. He would have loved to have been there. Since when was she at a feast without him, especially a joyous feast where people gave away gifts like this? She forced the thought aside.

"Firebeards," Her husband said when she looked their way. "And Broadbeams. Stiffbeards and Ironfists have come as well. They come to offer an alliance."

She nodded solemnly. "Then we must work quickly least it all be for naught." She turned her eyes to the crowds of humans. "Any others?"

"We have sent messages to the Easterling tribes," he responded shifting to Quenya. "And some of the Haradrim. But it appears that the ones who are sympathetic to our cause and wary of Sauron are being supressed and invaded, if not enslaved by other tribes of the same area. And those that survive do not believe we can help them and want nothing to do with us, anymore."

"Oh dear," Estela groaned.

"It does not help matters that the Númenóreans of the past have treated them with disdain, almost as much as the Drúedain. I suppose some of them remembered that we, including you, have treated them kindly in the past, even saved some of their people, but the fact that we have allied ourselves with any surviving Númenóreans does not endear us in their eyes. They don't trust the Men of Gondor and Arnor."

"But they were treated even worse by the King's Men," Estela remarked. "And the Dark Númenóreans, their kin and those that follow the same way of thinking are aligned with Sauron."

"Perhaps," Ereinion said. "But Sauron is tricky and manipulative. He's convinced them that they will gain their rights and freedom, even vengeance if they ally themselves with him. I suppose he's keeping the Dark Númenóreans and the Easterlings and Haradrim separate. The armies are large enough."

"That is indeed grim news," Estela moaned quietly.

"Yes," he admitted. "But do not lose hope."

Estela grimaced and shook her head. She continued eating and drinking, though she had to force herself to swallow. She felt sick to the bone.

She blessed Valandil with all her heart, but she was not in a celebratory mood.

* * *

The next day saw an audience with the Dwarves.

"_What?"_ She hissed at Ereinion.

He sighed. "We are going to plan an assault."

Estela cursed inwardly. "And I suppose we need the Dwarves for this?"

"Not yet. We don't ask them to go to battle straight away, you know this," he chided. "We just need to make sure they're on our side, and firmly too." He looked grim. "I will join you for a while, but I have to excuse myself and be late for there are still some things to plan." And with that he left the room.

Estela scowled and looked at the mirror. Once again, here she was. She didn't mind. She liked making friends. And she knew this was necessary. So why was she so strained?

Estela smoothed out her hair. Her dress was in a very dark blue, almost black, and sleeveless- a sight that would have raised some eyebrows, but so what? It was more practical than those long and draping sleeves. But the material was draped regally and had a pattern of adamants like a shower of falling stars from her shoulder downwards, and at her waist. Her shoes were studded with crystal and her jewellery were sapphires set in silver. The dark colour scheme contrasted elegantly with her white skin and it seemed to mute her hair stylishly

_I find myself dressed like a queen, and yet I feel tired…so tired. And angry. And hurt, and pained. I never had much time to grieve properly. _

That wasn't her husband's fault, though. She insisted on taking duties to distract her, and to do something meaningful and useful.

But she wondered if she was ready, as an afterthought.

But if she wasn't ready now, when will she be ready?

Estela swept from the room and met with the Dwarves of the Firebeard clan, the Broadbeam clan, the Stiffbeard and Ironfist clans.

"Welcome friends," she curtsied low to them, lower than an elven queen normally would when greeting dwarves. They were surprised at that. She even summoned her most brilliant smile, which really seemed to shine and sparkle.

"I give you my most heartfelt greetings," she said with sincerity that astonished them. Dwarves always identified elves as being prissy, prim and proper, even cold as ice, not showing what they _really _felt, which gave them cause for scorn. Estela could tell she really took them aback.

"Please," she indicated ornate seats for their level but thickly cushioned and embroidered richly as to honour them.

They sat. She poured them mead, their preferred drink.

"It was good of you to invite us here," One of them piped up.

Estela smiled. "I am truly glad you could come. Although I wish we could have met in better circumstances." Her face clouded with shadow.

"We offer our condolences on the death of your cousin, a truly great elf." One of them said quietly.

Estela's face shadowed in pain, but she sighed and nodded. "And I give my thanks for your kindness. But there is only one thing to do: To make sure cousin's sacrifice is not in vain."

They nodded fire-sparks in their eyes.

And now to business. Estela was to use everything she had to make them see reason and want to fight against the Dark Lord- she had to make them see, that sooner or later, if they did not come to his doorstep, he would come to _theirs_.

"Sauron has killed my cousin, his wife and child, and many of their people- and he has slain your kin, or rather, Durin's kin of the Longbeard clan, I've been told." Her shoulders slumped and her mournful, sorrowing eyes met theirs. "He came to us bearing gifts- to Men, Dwarves and Elves alike. And then he treacherously reared and bit us, like a snake in the shadows, waiting to jump to its prey." Her voice shook with rage.

Her grief and anger was apparent to the dwarves and they were filled with pity. "Take heart my lady," one of them said softly. "He will not win."

Estela smiled at him. "Alas, forgive me for disturbing you with such feelings when you yourselves I heard, are threatened."

"Aye," The Firebeard King rumbled. "That accursed Sauron…. His power and treachery knows no bounds."

"None indeed." The Ironfist King looked disgusted at the mention of him.

"That lackey of Morgoth will never gain all of Middle-Earth," Estela said, a hard strength and anger entering her voice and eyes, steeling her frame. "Which is exactly what he intends. He will not stop until every corner, every forest and garden, every mountain, every patch of land is reduced to ash where only orcs can grow and thrive. King Durin has told me that he has already taken Gundabad."

The Firebeard growled deep in his throat, and the others looked equally venomous and enraged. "Aye," he growled. "He has. That filthy, accursed, abhorred spawn of evil! That mountain was the sacred mountain in which Mahal created us, before placing us in different mountains! And that treacherous dog has taken it for his own… to breed… to breed… Filth!" He spat out the last word.

"Indeed," Estela's voice darkened. "I can imagine if Sauron were to take Cuiviénen, where my forefathers awoke." Her eyes flashed. "He will not stop there. He has made it quite clear he wants more. Minas Ithil, he now calls Minas Morgul, the Tower of the Moon becomes the Tower of Sorcery. And instead of glowing silver at night, it now grows a sickly corpse-pale light of green. And unspeakable acts, treacherous dark magic is being concocted there, undisputedly which Sauron uses to plan and extend his power over Middle-Earth." The Dwarves growled.

"Already he has killed so many of our kin." Estela said quietly. "I heard he has taken one of your mountains again, in the North."

Arghh!" The King of the Stiffbeards groaned. "He has taken one of our most populous dwellings! How many innocent dwarrowdams and children, have to die along with many of our best warriors?"

The Firebeard King's eyes flashed. "He has attacked us without provocation, stole our gold to fund mercenaries for his filthy armies, slaughtered our innocents like they were dogs gnawing on the corpses of warriors, and even denies them a decent burial."

Estela's eyes widened. "You mean they-"

"Yes!" The Firebeard threw his hands into the air. "They feasted on the flesh and gnawed the bones and marrows of our fallen dead! For centuries we have observed the sacred rituals for peace! From stone our creator made us, from stone we were born, and from stone we shall and must return in order to find peace with our forefathers in their halls! Yet Sauron knows this and he laughs mockingly in his fortress whilst his armies feast and desecrate our sacred halls and on our fallen!"

"I am sure they will find peace," Estela moved instantly to console them. "The Lord Aulë does not abandon his children and Eru-Ilúvatar sees all and loves all his children- _Eruhíni_ we all are, even though it was Aulë who first forged you from stone." She smiled warmly and gladly. "He made you well, I see. Strong and hardy, enduring and persistent, though some see you as stubborn," she said fondly and they chuckled. "Skilled in shaping and hearty. For that I see no faults, even though our race is different."

They beamed at her.

"Speaking of which," Estela reached out with her hand. "You know I came from Valinor?"

The Stiffbeard's eyes widened. "So you must have…"

"Yes." Estela said. "I knew him." She extended out her hand. On one was a chain with a fiery opal stone, like a sun, dangling from a perfectly-wrought chain. It seemed to burn brightly and drank in the light of the morning. She extended the necklace with its pendant to the Firebeard King. How it shone! How it drank in the light and shone out infinitely bright as to make other gemstones seem poor and shabby. It was like no jewel they had ever seen- the most beautiful and the most brilliant-shining. "The Lord Aulë gave me this," she said quietly. "He did not make the chain- that was my cousin's doing- but the stone was made by his hands as were your fathers. And now, I freely give to you, as a sign of our friendship and that the Lord Aulë remembers and is with you every step of the way. And I know he must be proud, for he will never abandon you."

Needless to say they were speechless beyond belief. Tears shimmered in their eyes, as Estela draped the chain over the Firebeard's head, and he grasped the stone with so much awe and tears in his eyes, like a father beholding the first of his children, or someone being reunited with their long-dead parents. She gave similar gifts made by Aulë to the others. She had something for Durin too, though she had yet to meet him. She knew they would treasure this more than anything, and that they would not forget.

"And I must give Durin's gift as well when I next see him."

There was a long silence.

"My lady," The Broadbeam King sounded hoarse with tears. "We shall never forget this. And we shall not let you stand alone in the fight against evil. I cannot speak for all my kin, but the Broadbeams stand with you in this fight against the Evil One."

"Aye." The Firebeard was quick to echo, tears in his eyes. "And we as well," the Ironfist announced valiantly, pressing his fist to his heart in a salute, bowing from the neck. "We as well." Declared the Stiffbeard, rising. He beamed at the Elven Queen. "This say we all. We shall never forget, and we shall never allow evil to flourish and our friends and kin to be forsaken in the dark of Mordor."

Just then Gil-Galad entered the hall. His eyebrows rose as he beheld the sight. Estela clasped each of the dwarven kings' hands in friendship and curtsied low to them.

"What happened?" He asked her. She looked amused, but happier than he had seen her since Celebrimbor and his family's fall.

Durin too had entered the hall with Gil-Galad and he looked surprised. The other dwarven kings nodded their heads and acknowledged him and Gil-Galad as they went out, but their deepest bows of respect went to Estela.

She sighed, once they left. "It appears the other Dwarven Clans will stand with us. In the meantime, King Durin, I have a gift that will restore the hopes of your race."

The _Híni Ilúvataro _were united in the fight against Sauron. They will not go alone.

* * *

"You are a wonder," mused Ereinion seemingly reverently.

"I had something to do," Estela said. "And I knew I should."

They stood in the balconies overlooking Imladris' beauty and those of the stars. They weren't the brightest tonight but they shone strong and true, it seemed.

He held her close and she leaned onto him. They kissed.

"We don't have long it seems," Ereinion said regrettably. "But I cherish and savour every moment with you as long as I can. They kissed again, and embraced.

"I feel as if we have too little time, even for now," she said. "Please let us be together and shine in whatever moments we can steal."

"I love you, my darling," he whispered. "I pray we will always be together." "And I love you. It will never end." She swore.

* * *

_Silver-Hand!... you will fail. Your spirit will never see the Halls of Mandos!_

_You cannot resist my power, Silver-Hand. I can feel your rage. Your hate. Your pride. Your flames feed nothing but evil._

_You fall to the ways of your grandfather and father. Like them you shall fail. _

"_You know nothing of true power, Sauron! The light will always prevail! All who resist will be burnt by it!"_

_That voice! She knew that voice! She wanted to scream, to cry out, to run to him! It was Telperinquar- her cousin!_

* * *

Estela awoke all of a sudden. It was a dream. Just a dream. Just a foolish hopeful dream. A foolish, hopeful dream, for a foolish, hopeful creature who should have known better!

"My love is something wrong?" Ereinion asked beside her.

"Nothing." She lay back down. "Nothing at all."

The preparations to march continued. Eastwards they will go.

Círdan will join them. And then Elendil will meet them. Soon after, they will be joined by Elrond from Imladris. They will then have to plan carefully for the next phase. Sauron would not back down so easily. But a show of strength may surprise him and spur the need to throw something back at them tenfold.

Estela oversaw the preparations. And all the while she could not stop her mind and kept thinking about her priceless, irreplaceable baby daughter, her lost precious son, her truest love and husband…

And her cousin.

Was he truly alive?

* * *

_**Sorry for the long wait.**_

**_I read a little about Dúnedain naming ceremonies. The father formally accepts the child, with very little exceptions, such as if the child was not his, or he was heartless, or if it was marked by evil- due to the unspeakable acts the King's Men committed when their island still existed. But there is bound to be a blessing for sure, and I wrote here that the child was sprinkled with water, like Vikings would do for their babies' naming ceremonies. In the movie Born of Hope, Aragorn comes out in his father's arms and someone cries out, "Behold Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Lord of the Dúnedain! Scion of Elendil of Númenor! The heir of Isildur! Hail Aragorn!" And everyone responds the same way. In the writings, it says that they usually wait a month before arranging a feast, but I think in war, there is little time to spare._**

**_The Drúedain, a.k.a Woses, are a race of humans, shorter and considered ugly-looking by other men, as well as mostly keeping to the forests, being very secluded. Because of their looks, and despite of their good nature, other humans look down upon them and see them as evil, often slaughtering them for sport, until Aragorn became king and placed laws for their protection. I assume they must have had similar treatments to Easterlings, Dunlendings and Haradrim, based on such information and the fact that Aragorn-Elessar King of Gondor and Arnor and _**_**Éomer**** King of Rohan, made peace with them and trade after the war.**_

**Eruhíni_ and _****Híni Ilúvataro**_** means 'Children of Eru-All-Father'.** _

_**The Longbeards, Firebeards and Broadbeams, the Ironfists, Stiffbeards, Blacklocks and Stonefoots (latter two not seen here), are the clans of Dwarves. Thorin Oakenshield, his family and Company and cousin ****Dáin Ironfoot are Longbeards.**_


	43. Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Three

The next year saw the time for attacks.

Estela took Vanimelda with her from Lindon, partly because she could not bear to be parted from her child, and to keep the child safe. She intended to spend as much time with Vanimelda as she could. But the journey to Imladris made her skittish and wary of any surprise attack. She hated open spaces. She hated dark corners and shadows. In fact, she hated everything on the journey.

The arrival could have seen her weep and collapse in relief. Hardly admirable in a shieldmaiden and a queen, no less, but she feared nothing more than to lose this child. Sauron made sure of Eleniel's death, that much she was certain. And with Fëanuldon ripped from her before he was born…

Honestly, could anyone blame her?

Elrond and his twin sons Elladan and Elrohir greeted them. Celebrían stood with Arwen their young daughter. They bowed and curtsied low to the High King.

"Greetings, my lord, my lady and we welcome you gladly to Imladris." Elrond intoned. "Our home and people are honoured by your presence."

"Greetings, Elrond, _Mellon-nin_," Ereinion responded. He swept down from his horse.

Estela dismounted and helped Vanimelda, carrying her from the carriage where she had ridden in safety, with covered windows.

Everyone else gasped in awe and shock when they beheld the child. Whispers then erupted which were swiftly silenced.

Isildur stared in shock. No one knew Gil-Galad had a daughter, Estela bit her lip when no one saw. And of course they would stare. Vanimelda was a very conspicuous child.

Elrond knelt down to greet the little girl.

"Greetings, Elenñaltë Vanimelda Ereinioniel." He smiled. The girl smiled shyly and beautifully. "_Elen síla lúmenn' omentielvo_."

She blushed sweetly.

_She does remind you of stars,_ Estela thought. So naturally that greeting came to people's minds.

Estela smiled.

_The attack will commence shortly, _Ereinion communicated silently with Elrond by mind. _Are you ready?_

Elrond's eyes steeled.

He gave a brief nod and led the king inside.

Estela followed shortly with Vanimelda.

_In Lindon, months later…_

On the morrow, they would march.

Elves prepared for war. The sound of hammering and sizzling metal and fires blazing echoed from the forges. The horses neighed and whinnied in their impatience to get out, while stable-hands threw extra straw and checked that the supplies for the horses and those riding out on the morrow, were well-stocked. The rushing of attendants and squires, the meticulous checking and re-checking of armour, and careful packing of supplies were all observed. Everyone went about in desperation, for they could not afford to lose.

Estela watched all this from a veranda nearby. It was twilight. And the stars were already out. They didn't have long.

Dressed finally, in the garb of a shieldmaiden which she was happy about, Estela watched the preparations and noticed not the slightest thing until a small figure made her way next to her mother.

Estela looked down and saw in slight surprise.

The child's wide violet eyes were filled with awe, yet were solemn and knowing. "You look like a shieldmaiden." She said softly.

Estela wore a corselet of beautifully-moulded and patterned armour that fitted her form exceedingly well. Her cape billowed from her shoulders, creating a regal, majestic, yet ominous appearance. Her hair was tied back, braided and she had yet to wear her helm, but two graceful swords rested in their sheaths at her hips. Overall, the effect looked deadly- dangerous as the most renowned of blades, but feminine somehow. Perhaps due to the lack of bulkiness and masculine mouldings used for this set of armour. But the colours, golden-bronze and blue, matched those of Gil-Galad's and the rest of the Noldor.

She smiled sadly. "Being a shieldmaiden, by far, means I have to do more than just look the part. Same as being queen. Or anything else. Now I have to prove my worth and mettle in this storm."

"Haven't you already?" The child asked.

"Not in this war." Estela said. "And not to Sauron."

* * *

They rode. And out to Amon Sûl they went. Gil-Galad, Círdan and Estela. To meet Elendil, King of Gondor and Arnor, they went.

"Weathertop," Estela said, remembering the fortress with its watch-tower. "Amon Sûl." She turned to her husband. "Do you think that Sauron will attack there?"

"He already knows we march," Ereinion replied. "But no, he is not planning an assault, as we yet know. These lands are too well-defended. He will be occupied in other parts of these realms to worry about this one fortress. No, his attack will not be there."

Estela fell silent. All the years of her fighting, she favoured stealth. Stealth and hidden assaults. In this, Ereinion knew best. But they both knew that it was necessary to think of every possible option for their enemy and for them, when it came to warfare.

"_Aiya Meldor!" _The shout echoed throughout the open spaces. As was Ereinion's plan, Estela thought. If any scouts and spies were watching, they would carry this to Sauron.

"Hail, Elendil, son of Amandil and King of Gondor and Arnor," Ereinion responded. The elves saluted. The King Elendil and his knights made their way to meet Gil-Galad.

"My lord king, my lady, my lord Círdan." Elendil gave a feral grin. "We march. Shall we teach these evil beasts the danger of messing with us?"

"Aye," Ereinion laughed. "Let us go. We must make haste. But your spirit emboldens and strengthens us."

And off they went.

Out near Imladris, Elrond met them. Glorfindel, who had been sent ahead, was there as well. The host of Imladris joined with the ones led by Gil-Galad, Círdan and Elendil.

They would stay- in order for Sauron to become confused and not know when they would attack and how many would join them, the proper show was necessary. In the meantime, Estela consoled herself with the joy that Vanimelda was already there.

* * *

Dressed regally in royal purple embroidered with gold and silver and glittering sequins of the same metal, Estela's eyes narrowed. She was not in the mood to show off. And if she must, why not go as a shieldmaiden- a warrior female? Draping a shawl of lilac gauze over her, Estela summoned a smile for her wide-eyed daughter, looking breathless with awe.

"Amil," she breathed. "You look… you look…"

Estela laughed picked her up, swung her around and gave her a long kiss, making her squeal. She put her down and kissed her several more times, before enveloping her in an embrace.

"I love you, _Seldë_," she whispered. "I love you, so very, very much."

"I love you too, Amil," she whispers. Estela kneels down and touches the pendant she gave her.

She gazed at it for a long while, then kissed little Vanimelda again.

"Now you be good," she said. "Do as you're told, and go to sleep when it's time for you too. I'll come and see you tonight, and say goodnight, so will your father."

"Yes, _Ammë_," she said, nodding. Dropping one last kiss on her head, Estela swept out.

Ereinion came in to spend some time with his daughter as she was leaving, but Estela's mind quickly wandered to other things.

Had the other dwarf clans joined them? The Blacklocks and the Stonefoots sent no word. It could either be that they chose to hide away, or have sided with Sauron.

Estela closed her eyes despairingly. The amethyst and silver diadem did not rest easy on her head, even if her other jewels did. So this was what Ereinion felt. And not just him.

Finwë. And Olwë. And even her father brief as it was. And Findekáno. Even as a shieldmaiden concerned about saving others, Estela never felt this way.

She shook her head. She had to get a hold of herself!

"Come now," Ereinion said. A welcome was necessary, they needed to make new alliances- fast.

Estela sighed. "Very well, lead on _Aran-nin_." He smirked. Normally he would have been annoyed, but she was the annoyed one.

"What and who shall we meet in Elrond's great hall, I wonder," she mused. "And what new ways to battle Sauron shall we devise?"

And so they went off.

The meeting was fraught with arguments.

Nothing was solved.

"Silence!" Ereinion roared. He said something, which no doubt silenced them. Estela wasn't listening.

A pang went through her, as her thoughts went to her son whom she believed was safe in Valinor, but a world away, and he was unlikely to be seen for centuries, or even millennia by her- if ever- and her daughter, who was sleeping safely, blissfully unaware that she was in more danger than Eleniel had been before her death.

So much pain and sorrow. She almost smirked. But this was war. And she would fight to the last…

Unfortunately, she would have to go through a great deal of planning first.

And then there was the spy.

After a _long _talk, Estela excused herself and went to a store-room- empty, of course.

Imladris had no dungeons. This was a warm and welcoming place, and despite being one of the safest, and well-guarded places in Middle-Earth, elves are not inclined to crime, such as theft, robbery or murder and certainly not rape- elves were not capable of either raping or being raped- but Estela had insisted on bringing a certain someone.

It took all of her willpower not to butcher the man or torture him until he died. But all she needed to do was remind herself what the need for revenge and the blinding rage it brought along with it, did to the ones she loved and her life.

Besides, he would prove useful.

Estela went down, deep down in the cellars.

She jerked her head to the ones standing guard.

They unlocked the door, and Estela, smiling coolly, stepped inside.

Inside, was a chained Belzagar -the one who had poisoned and transfigured, possessing her son and robbing him of a life, before his first breath, and her and her husband of a son, her daughter of a brother.

Smiling icily in a way that was certain to play to everyone's greatest fears, the elven Queen smirked as her icy emerald eyes made contact with Belzagar. He gulped and could not even restrain himself.

She started playing with his mind.

Bending down, she said, "Hello Belzagar." She smiled wider. "Having a nice time?"

"I- you-" he flushed with rage. "You- you chained me- dragged me-"

"And you poisoned my son," the Queen said coolly. "And possessed my unborn boy and gave his soul and mind to Sauron. And it was Sauron who was responsible for the sinking of your island. What do you say now, do you still think Ar-Pharazôn and the King's Men invincible?"

She leaned closer. Her cool fingers stroked their way up his throat and just beneath his chin and jaw. She whispered. "And tell me, Belzagar, why should I not kill you now? Did Sauron save you? Do you think he will save you? And Morgoth- do you think he will keep your soul safe when you die? Tell me, what's to stop me from killing you, right now?"

He swallowed. She leaned even closer. "Nothing," she whispered in a way that would seriously frighten the Dark Lord himself. "Nothing at all."

"So I'll just play around, won't I?" She whispered, pulling her fingers up to stroke and play with his cheek, like a knife. "Yes, I think I shall play."

* * *

The music went merrily. People danced and clapped.

Ereinion held Vanimelda, so she could easily see her daughter was safe, despite the gawking and stares produced by her mere presence.

Estela smiled as she beheld her daughter. He danced with her, and she giggled and laughed with joy and delight. It warmed Estela to see her thus.

Estela herself went and Ereinion greeted her with a kiss and the three of them danced and played the night away, their laughter mingling with the rest. Of course there were many who were missing. Many whose absences tore deep and terrible holes within them, including the poor, sweet absent boy, presumed to be in Valinor, and the Ring-maker, his wife and child.

But they would survive. Tears shimmered in her eyes, and for once, she allowed it. Tears of sorrow and pain. Tears of joy and laughter. Tears of endurance and the triumph of survival.

Estela sat down on the bed, after putting her daughter to bed.

Ereinion was beside her and a soft lamp was lit. He was reading through reports and Estela shook and brushed out her long, waving hair. For the first time, she seemed to notice the colour. It was an unbelievably rich, burnished and shiny copper streaked with purest, finest gold and silver. She touched it, fondly. Not really seeing her own hair, but remembering. Always remembering.

Her hair was inherited from her father. Russandol, his kin called him, or copper-top. He always laughed and had always liked the _epessë_. He even referred it rather jokingly. The gold came from her half-Vanyarin maternal grandmother, who had streaks of her own. Her great-grandmother Istarnië, wife of Mahtan, was also gold-haired, with a strong dose of Vanyarin blood, she suspected. But the silver was her mothers.

She had good memories of her parents. The most wonderful and lovely anyone could ever ask for. And despite all the labels they stuck to her father- that was what she remembered the most- what she would never cease to remember and what she told her children. She would never let the memories slip away into darkness. Never.

She would remember the joy, the good and the light, long before the darkness. And as she touched her hair fondly, and lovingly, she knew she would remember it, even within the Halls of Mandos.

She placed her brush on the nightstand and slid her feet out of her slippers and under the covers. Ereinion smiled at her.

She touched his hand. "I love you." She said. "I'm truly, so sorry it took so long. And I'm so sorry I was such a grouch." He laughed.

He sobered. "I think we have a moment of peace for the time being. He stroked her cheek. "I truly, deeply, unendingly love you- even if I have nothing left and am no longer king."

She smiled and they kissed. "The stars are out." She said. And all she could see were happy memories.

* * *

_Little Estela raced through the diamond-dust sand of the beach, giggling as she went. The grown elves that saw her, shook their heads and smiled fondly to themselves before going back to work._

_She laughed as she tried to catch a tern. She missed, of course, but the tern called playfully as she giggled and jumped, trying to reach it, before finding herself lifted into the air, and shrieking with laughter, realised that it was her father, who kissed her on the cheek. The tern flew away in surprise. She giggled. _

"_How's my little Estela?" He asked, playfully, kissing her. "Hmmm? What are you doing, little love?"_

_She giggled. "Playing, Atar. Playing!" _

"_Ah," he kissed her firmly again. "And what are you playing little dove?"_

"_Just trying to catch the birdie, Atto, but you scared it away."_

_He laughed out loud and she grinned, hearing him laugh. _

_Nearby she heard her mother sigh. "Come now, Maitimo. I sent you to fetch our little one, for lunch. I didn't think you'd simply join her."_

_He bellowed with laughter. "Coming, my love!"_

"_Coming, Amil!" Estela called out to her mother._

_She rushed over to their picnic lunch, after her father set her down._

_She ran to her mother and kissed her, after her mother embraced her tightly._

* * *

Estela woke up and went silently to her daughter's room. She kissed the little girl in her sleep. The baby smiled.

"Precious little thing," she cooed sweetly, lovingly.

_My baby._ She thought. But she had two babies. And one day, she swore, they would meet each other.

One day. And one day, she would see all her loved ones in Valinor. Under the light of the sun, the moon, Laurelin, Telperion or the stars. Come what may this would happen.

But first there was a war to plan. They weren't in Imladris for a holiday.

Estela made her way to the briefing room once dressed.

"-And from there, we shall head north," One of the councillors was talking. "That is what I propose." He looked up and nodded. "My Queen."

Ereinion gave a smile when she entered the room. Estela nodded to everyone present. "Please continue," she said politely.

"I say this is too risky." Another advisor said. "Far too risky. Sauron might not expect us to take that route, but it is longer, more perilous, and with very little places for refuge. We're much too vulnerable."

"Well we cannot go eastwards," the first councillor argued. "It would be very easy for Sauron."

"And there's the fact that we have to cross the plains of Gorgoroth," another elf argued. "If we want to get to Barad-dûr. Not a short distance by far, and to say packed with orcs would be the biggest understatement. And how do we plan to face the Enemy? How would we kill him?"

"The Ring." Estela said all of a sudden. "It's made him vulnerable. It's heightened his powers to an unimaginably vast amount- but it's also his weakness. When Sauron made the Ring, he cut open his finger when the band was upon it, when the gold was still hot. He has placed a part of his _fëa_ within it. This I am sure."

Everyone looked aghast and horrified- sickened even- and the exclamations of denial, shock and horror began. Estela let it continue for a while, before looking to her husband. "Enough!" The High King ordered.

"We need to separate the Ring from Sauron," Estela continued. "And even then it would not be enough. As long as the Ring still lives, so will Sauron. Remember Sauron is no earthly being." She warned. "He is a fallen Maia- so he does not need a physical body as much as he needs his soul. But if that part of his _fëa_ which resides within the Ring, still lives, so will he, and he will rise again, perhaps even more terrible than before. We need to destroy it, and not by ordinary means."

Everyone looked to her. No one thought to question her.

"The Ring was made in the fires of Orodruin. It's the only place where it can be destroyed." She looked to Elrond for support. He nodded this confirmation.

There was a long silence. Finally Ereinion breathed out a sigh.

"What you say isn't easy, Estela. Even if we get past the Black Gates and into Mordor, past the plains of Gorgoroth, and through mass armies of orcs, trolls and other foul creatures, and somehow- by chance or by his decision- come across Sauron, it will not be easy to cut the Ring from his finger." He smiled bitterly. "He is, after all, the new Dark Lord."

"And if we somehow manage to do the impossible…" He shook his head.

Estela narrowed her eyes. "It is the only way. The Ring is the source of Sauron's power and life. To separate him from it, would be to destroy his physical form and power. To destroy it would be to destroy him permanently."

They all looked at her. Ereinion-Gil-Galad, the councillors and advisors, the military commanders and captains, the knights and squires of the humans, Elendil and his sons.

"It must be done," Elrond said firmly. "It is the only way." He repeated Estela's words.

Ereinion looked at Elendil. The two, after exchanging an unspoken message, seemed to agree on something. Ereinion grimaced and Elendil nodded.

"Very well, then I agree," he turned to King Elendil. "I also," Elendil seconded.

Estela turned to Elrond. "Very well, then. It is done." Elrond nodded.

Just as the others left, Ereinion took hold of her arm. "Just a minute," he said. "How did you know about the Ring hosting a part of Sauron's soul?"

Estela tilted her head. "I brought along a prisoner. And I went into his mind, like I did last time." Ereinion looked bewildered.

"What do you mean- who-" he then stopped dead. "Belzagar?" He asked, naming the man who had poisoned their son before birth.

"The very same," Estela said. "It appears Sauron has been planning this for a while, now."

Ereinion went silent again, to aghast to absorb this information. "Schemes within schemes," he whispered. "You mentioned… cutting open his finger," he said hoarsely. "Letting his soul… Was that not how he dealt with our son? Giving his blood and… _a part of his soul_?" Ereinion choked out disbelieving and anguished, uncharacteristic of him.

Estela said nothing.

* * *

"Now in Lindalambë," Estela said to her daughter.

Vanimelda smiled. _"Ēl sīla lūmena vomentienguo!" _She said. If only her maternal grandmother could be here, Estela thought wistfully, as she and her daughter carried on their conversation in Lindalambë, the language of the Telerin of Valinor.

"It sounds similar to Sindarin, does it not?" Estela asked. Vanimelda nodded. "Why is that?"

"Because Lindalambë and Sindarin both sprung from Common Telerin," Vanimelda said solemnly. "They have the same mother-language, but as both groups separated- one group leaving and set sail for Valinor, and the other remaining in the woods of Middle-Earth- so their vocabulary expanded as they invented new words and phrases for anything or anyone new they encountered, or even for the things and people they have already seen. The accents also start to change and develop new traits over time, and isolation from one another. Human languages work that way too- but elves not so much, because we are immortal, and as such find it hard to adjust to change." Estela said. Vanimelda drunk in every word.

"Does Lindalambë sound slightly closer to Quenya, than it does Sindarin?" She asked. Vanimelda nodded. "In Quenya we say, _'Elen sila lumenn' omentielvo.' _In Lindalambë we say, '_Ēl sīla lūmena vomentienguo.'_ But in Sindarin it is '_Êl síla erin lû e-govaned vîn_.' Sindarin also has similarities with the Avarin tongues- as the two of them, despite being entirely separate, also interacted occasionally- not too often though- the Avari do not like outsiders." Estela said. "They do not trust them. But you can easily tell, can't you? The wine, which you saw others drinking during the feast, comes from Dorwinion- an Avarin land. The name obviously had similarities with Sindarin- and Westron, the tongue of humans," Estela smiled down at her little girl who was absorbing all this like a sponge. "But my mother-name- Estela- is Lindalambë. Do you know what it means?" She asked her daughter.

Vanimelda's brow crinkled, thinking. "Hope?" She said. "It does sound like _'estel' _which is Sindarin." "It does," Estela said. "And yet you observed in the greeting, '_Ēl sīla lūmena vomentienguo' _that they added an 'A' sound at the end of the word 'lūmena', which in the Vanyarin and Noldorin Quenya is simply '_lumenn''_. Thus my name, Estela. In Quenya, my name would be Amátirë." Estela smiled. "You're doing very well, Melda."

Melda smiled happily. Estela laughed. "I think we've practiced enough." Her mother said.

Melda pouted. "But Ammë, we're not finished yet!" She protested. Estela laughed. "Play, Melda. I heard Arwen at least needs help with her Quenya lessons. Perhaps you can introduce her to a bit of Lindalambë. I'm sure she would appreciate that." Melda nodded.

"Off you go," she gently nudged her daughter.

"She's unbelievably intelligent," a voice breathed behind her. Estela turned to see Isildur.

Estela smiled. "Yes. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have sent her off- I can call her back and have her say her proper greetings to you." She said apologetically.

Isildur's eyes widened. 'No, it's alright! Children should play at every chance they get." They both chuckled. "It's good that you use the outdoors instead of trapping her indoors with heavy volumes to memorise."

"Better for her to learn, if she is eager and interested," Estela said. "And the fresh air and open spaces is refreshing and healthy for her thought, than stuffy, cluttered classrooms."

Isildur smiled. "You never mentioned you had a daughter."

"No," Estela sighed. "I apologize for that. But if anyone so much as eavesdropped- only here in Imladris can I feel that she is safe." Isildur looked grim.

"I understand." He said. He leaned closer. "I saw many people gawking and doing whatever they can to take a good stare at her." His voice grew grim. "I've restrained them as much as I can, but an elven child- particularly the child of the High King- is an insatiable source of interest to others."

Estela too, grew grim. "I understand." She sighed. "But we cannot afford mistrust now, can we?"

"No." Isildur said. He paused. "What you said about Sauron and the One Ring," he began. "Sauron…" he couldn't find the words to express what he was saying.

"Is beyond anything you imagine," Estela said grimly. "But even if you cannot imagine it, your children will still have to live- or likely perish if he gets his way- under his power, unless we stop him."

"That is no easy task," Isildur ran a hand through his hair. He looked uncertain and fearful. "If that _does _happen, and we manage to separate him from his Ring, will the Ring do anything- if it does contain a piece of Sauron's soul and power… will it..." He could not finish.

Estela hesitated. "I do not know," she said regrettably. "But my advice would be to proceed as fast as one can towards Mount Doom, and to throw the Ring in the lava without even a second thought- without making eye contact at the thing."  
"As quickly as possible, then." Isildur said.

"As quickly as possible," Estela agreed.

* * *

**_Well, I tried! Yes, I know people have been moaning on about the drama and the attitude- and I'm sorry! But wouldn't she be nothing less than a perfect Mary Sue is she was too confident, and didn't make you want to shake her? _**

**_In any case, during the War of the Last Alliance- in the first phase after the Last Alliance was formed, they spent three years in Rivendell, agreeing on tactics and strategies, and forging weapons, acquiring whatever supplies they had. _**

**_Not too much drama here! But I can't promise you it will last forever- cause something _has _to happen! Didn't see Glorfindel in this chapter, or much of anything, including the dreams about Celebrimbor, but the action's about to start sooner or later. _**


	44. Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Four

Estela stood silent, watching the flame. She could not bear to look at the skies, even though the stars were out.

But she stared unseeing at the candle's flame, as she reflected on her dream.

* * *

_Swirling clouds of darkness surrounded her, but she knew it was nothing- what it concealed from her and was about to reveal, was more important._

_And so it did reveal something. The clouds gave way to…_

_Someone she knew. _

"_I have a power greater than death. I will forge these Uruks into an army of my own. As the first Dark Lord tortured and corrupted the Elves, I will redeem them in flame. They will be MINE!"_

_And the figure stood proud, strong, mighty and tall, clad in armour of the kind of which only her grandfather, father, uncles and cousin could make…. The cousin she believed was dead. His eyes blazed pale blue with such a bright and strong power, and something glowed upon his hand as he spread his arms out wide. But no! He couldn't be alive! He was dead! They saw his body- and those of Silmiel's and Eleniel's- there was no way-_ he could not be alive!

"_You will build a tower in MY name! Erect a monolith for your Bright Lord in defiance of the Shadow!"_

_What was he saying? What was he doing? What did he just say- the Bright Lord- he called himself?!_ What was he doing? _Who or _what_ was he ordering to_ _build a tower for in _his_ name?!_

"_Telperinquar, _no_!" She screamed. "No cousin, not this, anything but this- _do not do this!" _But he did not hear her. No one and nothing did- she was as mist. _

"**Silver-Hand!"**_The voice was booming and deep, so terrifying and truly the most terrible thing there was. It was horrifically-cold and scorching-hot at the same time. The voice of pure evil._

"**You dare stay in Mordor. You think to challenge me here, but you will fail. Your spirit will never see the Halls of Mandos."**

_And there, she could see her beloved cousin- her bond-brother- her _otorno_\- standing on the top of a very high tower. Celebrimbor stood defiantly, calm and more dangerous than he ever had been, more powerful and terrible, somehow. He sheathed his sword. He threw his head back and laughed as he declared with a terrible, defiant might that resembled their grandfather Fëanáro, the Spirit of Fire during his days of madness. _

"_Without the One Ring, you are nothing! I will tear down Barad-dûr and rebuild Eregion in the ruins. Release my family and I will let you serve me… Bringer of Gifts."_

_She could have gasped and screamed in her denial and horror of his words. No, no! What had he done? What had he become? _

"_Telperinquar no!" She screamed. "What have you done? Do not do this, do not play into his shadow!_

"**You cannot resist my power, Silver-Hand. I can feel your rage. Your hate. Your pride. Your flames feed nothing but evil."**

"_You know nothing of true power, Sauron. The light will always prevail. All who resist will be burnt by it."_

"_Do not do this!" She screamed again. "Do not fall into the spell and ruin which engulfed our grandfather and the rest of our family- cousin, _do not do this, you are better than this!"

"_Do not corrupt yourself," she sobbed. "Cousin, please… Come back to us, come back to the light- my cousin- my _otorno_."_

_But she could only watch despairingly as the mists engulfed the strong, tall and proud form of her beloved cousin once more. She screamed for the last time. _

* * *

Estela sat there, watching the candle flame. She did not see or hear Ereinion enter their bedroom.

Ereinion shut the bedroom door, and stopped when he saw his wife, just sitting there, staring blankly at the single flame.

He walked towards her. He knew better than to ask a question outright, so he just looked down, concerned, until she started and looked up.

"I keep dreaming…" she said blankly. "What?" Ereinion enquired.

She looked at the fire. "That he is still here… somehow. That his spirit is not at peace."

He knelt down to her level. "Your cousin?" He asked gently his voice breaking in pain for her. _"Melmenya,"_ he began.

She shook her head. "Foolishness, I know."

"No," he sighed. "I think you love your cousin- and your love is a source of strength for us all- but I would not dwell on these dreams," he warned. "Even if he lives, you know there is nothing we can do, short of defeating Sauron to save him and his family. But Estela…" He hesitated.

"You've seen their bodies, haven't you?" She asked numbly. When he didn't answer, she looked up at him with blazing eyes. "You are right. I have lost everything. I've lost my father to a deep, fiery chasm within the earth, I've lost my mother, who faded of a shattered heart when she believed we were both dead. I've lost my grandfather to the foul play and manipulations of Morgoth which resulted in madness, I've lost my forefather- whose shattered and bleeding remains were displayed before me- I've lost my grandmother, aunts and cousins, many of which remained in Valinor- separated from me, by an entire _world_, now and am likely never to see them again. I've lost my uncles, slain in wars they shouldn't have to fight, or vanished off the face of Arda, as was the case with one. I've lost the one I hold in my mind, soul and heart as my brother, his wife and only child, whom I know have suffered greatly whilst he was forced to watch and bear their suffering. I've lost my _son, _Ereinion- ripped from me, corrupted and poisoned before he had a chance to draw breath- and _live_. And now here I sit, waiting to lose my beloved husband and my only, priceless daughter." She sprang up.

"How do you expect me to react? Do you worry I would charge blindly into Mordor in pursuit of something which is likely to be only a hopeless, blind dream? You know me better than that!" At her anguished look, Ereinion drew her close to him.

"Hush, my love," he whispered. Like all their private conversations, this was held in Quenya.

But she didn't cry. _Really?_ She asked herself. _I was just beginning to steal some happiness in spite of all of this. Now I just _had _to break apart and spill all to him. He doesn't need this. He needs me to be strong for him._ She couldn't have been angry at herself for her weakness, but she chose to push it aside. It was the last thing anyone needed.

She sighed. "_Ánin apsenë. _Ereinion I am not upset, least of all with you." She said pulling away.

Ereinion sighed, and pulled her to him again, and tighter.

"I know that, Estela," he said gently, but pleadingly. "But can you not keep this to yourself? We are husband and wife, we took a vow to share each other's joys and sorrows, to lighten the burdens of the others and sweeten the joys by being there, if not more. You cannot shut yourself out and away from this world- and from me. I need you, _Melmenya_, and every time I feel you shutting this from me, and withdrawing yourself, I feel... Isolated… alone… abandoned, even, because you are the only one whom I can truly be myself around- you and our child," he said pleading with her. "Without you, I feel alone. More alone than ever." He sighed and sat on the bed. Estela watched him speechless with pain and guilt at making him thus.

"Please do not leave me be," he pleaded. "I need you." He sounded vulnerable, completely unlike him at all, and what others said of him- of Gil-Galad standing tall and proud, bravely standing up to and facing the evil of this world, a bright star shining out and repelling the darkness. Now he was just her husband.

"I have a tendency to brood on the past, I know that." She said ashamed. _"Ánin apsenë," _she said again. "I am sorry. I am so ashamed, and more so because I love you so, and I need you just the same. I too was alone- until I found you. Even with my followers, my friends, I was alone, until you came into my world." They smiled at each other and she touched his hand. He grasped it tightly, unwilling to let go.

"I worry about the same things too," he admitted. "I fear more than anything I would lose you and Melda. But perhaps we can share and ease each other's burdens, as well as our joys? You don't need to be a pillar of strength like _that _for me- just yourself, and with me, not alone."

She nodded, and lay her head on his strong shoulder. He pulled her closer and the two just sat there for a very long time.

"I will," she said quietly. "I will not leave you, not in this." He smiled. As if their love could not be increased further.

"_Melin, Ereinion,"_ she murmured. "I always have, and I always will- it will never end, even if Eä does."

"_Melin, Estela."_ He murmured. "I always have and I always will, no matter what comes for either of us."

* * *

The days were spent agreeing on and planning tactics and strategies, overseeing and supervising on the forging and compiling of weapons and supplies such as food, medicine and bandages and so forth, teaching, playing and in general spending time with Melda, meeting and negotiating new alliances if they were available, or strengthening the ones already made, meeting and getting to know everyone and overseeing the affairs of Lindon while still in Imladris, and always on the alert for Sauron, his minions and whatever schemes they had.

Needless to say, both Ereinion and Estela were kept highly busy. Ereinion even more than her, but the two of them still found time for Melda and each other.

Peace returned for a short while. Even if they knew dark days were ahead. So they savoured and enjoyed it as much as they could.

"I still believe we should take that approach." Artaner argued.

"Well, it is the wrong way," snapped Calassion. Artaner was getting on his nerves.

"It's safer and easier," Artaner argued. "And Sauron will be expecting us to take that approach!" Was the response.

"And how would you suggest managing to keep our supplies together?" Snarled Artaner.

"If we weren't carrying the excess weight of silks and cushions and other luxuries, we wouldn't be having this problem!" Snapped Calassion.

"I second that!" Another councillor said happily. A little too cheerfully.

"Why you-" Artaner's face went hilariously red. "Do you call me…a…a"

"Hedonist?" The councillor, whose name was Ráeru, laughed. "Glutton? Unashamed epicure? Or perhaps-"

"Why you-" Artaner shrieked and threw himself half-flat across the table whilst his hand reached futilely to Ráeru's neck and shoulders, grasping it and screaming words and insults.

The two simultaneously began trading insults such as _"Sevig thû úan!"_, _"Pedin i phith in aníron, a nin ú-cheniathog!"_, _"Eca, a mitta lambetya cendelessë orcova!" _and _"Súrë túla cendeletyallo!"_

At this point, several of the more sensible councillors and advisers all jumped, starting to pull them back. But the others who were all getting tired, started to snicker at the rather amusing show.

Some even decided to join in, just for fun.

Ereinion groaned, and glared at them, shouting, "Enough!" They froze and stared at him.

One councillor froze in the act, with his hand in a fist going down to a downwards swing, an advisor had his fist pressed against another's cheek while said person was pulling his hair in one hand, was also in the process of sticking his fingers up the former's nostrils. Yet another councillor had another's hand in his mouth about to bite, and said vulnerable person had his foot on the table, shoving towards the former's groin. They were all displayed about the table, frozen in shock in front of the High King, all looking as undignified and horrified as could be, whilst managing to also look embarrassed.

"For the sake of Arda!" The High King shouted. "Behave yourselves! If anyone wanted to kill themselves, all they have to do is climb up your egos and jump to your brain levels! What are you, a group of learned councillors and advisors, or a pack of Sauron's orcs who don't have a single nut-brain of their own?" He bellowed.

Erestor, councillor and trusted advisor of Elrond was the first of those who came to their senses and pulled those involved in the scuffle back onto their feet.

Estela resisted the impulse to groan and roll her eyes. The patience of everyone had run thin and tempers had flared a great deal in knowing failing or coming short of such matters and arrangements could mean death and widespread destruction. Not pleasant.

This wasn't the first '_amusing' _scene that took place, nor would it be the last. Even Ereinion knew better than to command them never to do it again- they would never manage it, and he knew better than to waste his breath. He could only remind them they needed to work together, or fall, and they would stop whatever they were doing and carry on as normal.

Idiots.

There was nothing Estela could do.

After they continued their discussion as if nothing had happened, they departed ways.

Ereinion groaned. "Valar, save me from such…" He could not even finish.

Estela soothingly stroked his arm. "Hush my love," she soothed. "They will work together, be certain of that." _She_ would make certain of it.

If they don't like it, they can get through _her_, before the rest.

* * *

It was winter, now. A blanket of snow covered the ground. The stream had frozen to ice. Arwen and Vanimelda busied themselves by building a figure made of snow, and various other sculptures, before Arwen tugged Vanimelda's hand and urged her to go ice-skating.

Their minders kept a watchful gaze upon the two young girls. Estela herself sighed letting steam blow into the air as she watched them giggle and laugh.

Estela felt a clutch of pain threaten to cripple and shatter her from within, but she held herself like the queen she was. Eleniel.

She would be maturing rapidly- for an elf. Her mind would have already raced ahead. How she used to guide and teach Vanimelda how to build a snowman. How they used to toss snowballs at each other, and she had been the one to teach Melda how to ice-skate.

How she mourned her passing and the loss of a future- though hopefully it was not permanent. Estela hastily put aside such thoughts, however, and smiled at the girls as they waved. The two giggled.

Estela smiled again. She was truly glad to see them at play, radiant, with colour blooming fresh on their pale cheeks, black hair whipping about. The two of them….

Estela was snapped out of her thoughts as someone came. She turned as Melda and Arwen began a game of cat's cradle as to decide which of them they determine will choose what to play next. This newcomer was- just Glorfindel.

He bowed to the queen, and Estela gave a slight smile and a nod before turning back to watch the girls.

"It never snowed in Aman," Glorfindel mused. "At least not in the parts where I lived."

"No," Estela agreed. "When I was a child, my parents would take me to the Pelóri Mountains just so I could play in the snow every year. Often than not, the whole family would come."

Glorfindel fell silent as he reflected on this. She had been happy in Valinor- and by the sounds of it, they all had, before Morgoth's release. She never wanted to come here, he realised. She was happier _there_\- before Morgoth's release.

Was it Fëanáro who ordered her to be brought with them to Endórë? He wondered. Olwë, king of the Teleri, and Arcalimar, his eldest son, spoke of her with great grief and pain, he remembered.

He had not been entirely honest with her. It wasn't just Idril who spoke of her.

They had not spoken it, but he wondered, was the Kinslaying at Alqualondë…. Because of the disagreement about her _and _the ships? Was that why Fëanáro attacked them in a rage?

He opened his mouth, but found that he could not say it. She had suffered enough in her lifetime.

Estela laughed as she saw Melda and Arwen attacking Elladan and Elrohir- who decided to join in- with snowballs.

"Ah, the fun we had as children," she said fondly. "I just hope they don't tire and wear themselves out too soon," she said before Elrohir threw a snowball at Melda, who promptly ducked, causing it instead to land on Elladan's surprised face.

"I heard about the briefing about the supplies," Glorfindel admitted sheepishly. "It appears Artaner does not agree with any proposed route."

She scoffed. "Is there complete convenience and safety anywhere? Danger lies along every path. Even in the safest of places such as this, there is a chance anyone can be harmed- no matter how small."

"True," Glorfindel sighed. "How very true, my Queen."

Estela said quietly. "Apart from the supply routes and the things they want and need to take, what are the other disagreements? The direction to take to Mordor. The tactics and strategies we need to get close to the Black Gate- how to break it down, and how to get through the arid plains of Gorgoroth to Barad-dûr and Mount Doom. And when we face Sauron, what next? How do we separate the Ring from him?"

Glorfindel's face grew grim. "We shall persist- and we shall prevail. Sauron will have made himself vulnerable, as you have said. And he stays in Barad-dur just like his master Morgoth stayed in Angband for the whole of the War- letting his minions do his filthy work."

"Save when he killed my grand-uncle," Estela said quietly. Glorfindel's face grew heavy with sorrow and regret. "Yes," he said quietly.

Estela sighed. "True. Sauron will not risk himself, no matter how invincible he thinks he might be."

"But we will need to face him, if we are to destroy the Ring," Glorfindel said. "And to destroy it, we must go to Mount Doom, to cast it into the fiery chasm to destroy his soul."

"Yes," Estela said softly. She observed the girls giggle and shriek with laughter while they played about. "Yes, we must. Or else there is no future for Middle-Earth."

And Glorfindel was amazed- one would think, he thought, that being born on Valinor, Estela would not be too uneasy about the fate of Middle-Earth. But she was.

* * *

"This is the wrong way!"

Estela now understood why so many hated these meetings. Normally she loved dealing with anything to do with tactics and strategy, but this! These people made her want to charge head-first out of the room and throw herself into the icy Bruinen!

She gritted her teeth and tapped her fingers loudly against the table. They all stopped and stared at her.

"If you are done arguing," she said through gritted teeth. "I suggest we all hear some more proposals before we decide on one or waste precious time." She gave an icy glare.

That shut them up.

Estela breathed out. Ereinion looked like he was about to snap harder than before. He relaxed at her single touch.

A pity they had to spend such lengthy amounts of time in such meetings. But both knew that the smallest mistake and the most obscure unplanned detail could mean their end. Sauron was certainly cunning enough.

"Now let Lord Elrond speak." She declared. "He has a proposal that we should all hear."

"Let Elrond, Lord of Imladris have the floor," Ereinion declared. Secretly he could not have been happier, though outwardly he remained regal, commanding and neutral.

Honestly, did anyone ever came across the idea to solder Artaner's mouth shut? Ereinion thought irritably.

"My proposal is that we go over the Misty Mountains," Elrond said. He pointed and ran his fingers across the map, to the ink sketches of the Misty Mountains." Everyone started and stared at him.

"Then from there, we shall go down the Anduin." Elrond continued as if no one had reacted. "There, we shall join with the Dwarves of Khazad-dûm, the Elves of Greenwood the Great, led by King Oropher, and those of Lothlórien, led by King Amdír. From there, we shall march south, through Eryn Galen, and then south-east, to the Gardens of the Entwives. Then to Mordor. There outside the gates of Mordor, we shall meet with Prince Anárion, son of King Elendil and his host."

Nearly everyone gaped at him.

Ereinion mused, "It's a good plan."

"My King!" Spluttered Awaldon, one of the councillors. "This is- this is-"

He took a deep breath before blurting, "A path through the Misty Mountains would be difficult, if not impossible! Anything could strike us down- storms- lightning and winds- and the trail is difficult to navigate through, if there is one."

At this Estela snapped. "The Dwarves have gone over these mountains just to come to Imladris to meet us. Are you saying that you, an elf, have less strength durability and capability than the Dwarves of Aulë? Our forefathers crossed the Misty Mountains on the Great Journey, are you telling me that as their descendant you are less than capable? For shame!"

Awaldon reddened spluttered some more. "What I meant was- was… There are orcs and goblins! What if the Enemy chooses to attack us _there_? Of all places, the Misty Mountains would be an impossible place to defend ourselves, unless we have the climbing capabilities of an insect, or the wings of a Great Eagle."

"On that I would agree with you, Awaldon," the High King said. "But I would point out it is not likely that Sauron will choose to attack us while we cross the Misty Mountains."

"These mountains are under the control of the Dwarves," Elrond pointed out. "And if orcs choose to attack us there, they will have to go through not only Men and Elves, but Dwarves. If Sauron's forces _do_ attack us there, then it is likely they will be beaten. Not only will we outnumber them, but this is dwarven territory- they will know best how to navigate the terrain and use it to their own advantage."

Awaldon and Artaner, among others bristled and still looked disgruntled, but the warning glare from Estela prevented them from saying anything. Estela and Ereinion knew that Sauron was much too cunning to attack them there, even though they could _never_ rule out that possibility completely.

"I shall consider this proposal, and I ask that you do the same," Ereinion said. He stood. "Until then, this meeting is adjourned. I shall ask your opinions tomorrow." He gave the gesture, and they all stood, bowed and departed the room, mumbling amongst themselves.

"Thank the Valar," Ereinion said wearily when he was certain they had all left and were out of ear-shot. He had told Elrond to stay and Estela stayed as well.

"Why must they make things more difficult than it should?" He grumbled. Estela tried not to smile.

"You know many of them do not know the realities of wartime and struggle to adjust to it- they have never seen battle before." He grunted. She poured him a goblet of wine and generously poured another for Elrond.

Ereinion took it gratefully and drank deeply.

"I think it is a good proposal," Estela said quietly. "One that might save all our lives in the coming months,"

Ereinion sighed and nodded. "We have no other choice. All other decisions are either too difficult to reach Mordor in one piece and the shortest amount of time, or too easy as to lure Sauron with a quick and easy victory."

"And we have yet to face the real challenge yet," Estela murmured. But she smiled at Elrond. "And yet, this was the best idea we have had put up in front of us."

Elrond bowed his head, but she could see the smile flickering around the edges of his mouth.

Estela sighed. "I shall leave you all to think about this then." She moved to leave. "Our daughter needs me."

Ereinion smiled, and his eyes brightened. "Tell her I will be with her soon." She smiled and nodded, leaving.

This was not a bad idea by far.

The Queen paused when she saw the two girls outside. Playing in the snow again, trying to catch the flakes as they fell. Suddenly the snowflakes falling from a grey-cloud blanketed sky, reminded her of what they might face when crossing the Misty Mountains. No, it would certainly not be easy.

The smile fell from Estela's face. Wrapping her pale blue and white-trimmed winter cloak tightly around her, she stepped out into the cold. Breathing out a mist, she observed the girl's playing. She clapped her hands to get their attention.

"Girls," she called out. "You should not stay overlong out here in this weather. Arwen where is your mother?"

"She is overseeing the banquet, my lady," Arwen said sweetly. Estela smiled and nodded.

"Well, then, perhaps you should come inside, there are things that need doing," she said, ushering them indoors.

Inside was warm and well-lit. "Where are your brothers?" She asked Arwen.

"Sparring, my queen," Arwen answered. "Well, let's go find them, shall we?" She asked the little girls gently. They nodded eagerly and chased each other through the hallways.

In the training yard Elladan and Elrohir were sparring, watched over by Glorfindel, who occasionally gave advice. The two young elves looked proud and joyful that one of the greatest warriors in history would give them advice.

Estela smiled, as the two little girls watched wide-eyed at the twins and Glorfindel.

She stepped out into the courtyard. They froze and immediately bowed. Glorfindel stood. "My apologies, I did not mean to interrupt." Estela said.

"Not at all, my lady," Elrohir murmured. "We have been learning of the guidance of Lord Glorfindel, present," Elladan said. "And we have learnt a great deal."

"I see," Estela said. "May I join you?" The twins gaped in awe. She looked at them in surprise. "If the Lord Glorfindel, the Balrog-Slayer, would be present, I would do anything to join." Her eyes danced.

Glorfindel laughed. "My lady, you flatter me."

"No, Glorfindel, I despise flattery. I only speak the truth."

"Now, which of you would like to spar?"

* * *

Later, Estela found herself in the study. She was writing reports among many things. The other things she was working on were designs for weaponry, saddles and bridles, and numerous other things.

_In truth there is so much I would like to do, _she thought. _But here I am, relegated to the role of warrior and queen. _

She liked to do other things, besides fighting, healing, and even weaving and making swans' figureheads. She could paint- her grandfather had taught her that, and speak, read and write in numerous other languages. She even designed and created her own gardens in Lindon. It was she who rearranged the landscape, and enriched the soil, preparing it for planting, and placed the seeds and bulbs in, watering and tending them, pruning and harvesting any fruit. The maze which Vanimelda loved to play in, and earlier, Fëanuldon (_No, she would not think of that!_), was designed and grown by her. She could sculpt, because she was taught by her grandmother, she could sing, play instruments and dance, her mother taught her that- and her uncle often helped. She studied everything around her. She even spent a great deal of time working and reforming the gardens in Lindon. She wondered if Elrond would allow her to do so, but she didn't have much time. She could paint, she thought, glumly.

Estela sighed, and asked for canvas, paints, palette and brushes with water to be brought.

A few hours later, Ereinion was surprised to see his wife working on quite a project- a large canvas painting.

In fact, shockingly, by this time, numerous canvases lay about propped on frames to dry. Estela had done several at a time. And they were breathtaking- as beautiful and spectacular as her tapestries. It was truly heartbreaking to behold such beauty.

A painting of Tirion upon Túna, lit by the light of the Two Trees. Valmar, City of the Maiar and Vanyar elves. Alqualondë, Haven of the Swans. Avallónë, the port city of Tol Eressëa. And Imladris, Lothlorien, the great cities of Doriath and Gondolin. The Two Trees. Taniquetil. The Pelóri Mountains.

And Lindon.

There were people there as well, but she painted them in happy times. Festivals, smiles and laughter, sparkling clothes and glittering jewels. Springs and cool, calm pools, the sea. It was like her tapestry, she was painting everything she had seen. Something for her daughter to remember her by.

In fact, she was so engrossed in her work, that she did not seem to realise her husband was there. Small blame, he smiled, and slowly left the room.

Here, she was at peace.

* * *

"The plan has been proposed. What say you?" He demanded.

They all looked apprehensive. Estela watched them warily.

Some of them exchanged wary glances, but one of them stood up.

"I support Lord Elrond's proposal."  
"As do I," Another said. "And I," "And I," and so it went on.

"Very well, then." Ereinion nodded. "As soon as all is in order, we will march- and march south we will."

Estela did not look forward to leaving behind the peace of Imladris. The beauty, the quiet. For some reason she began painting, sculpting, weaving and writing much more than she normally would, as well as spending time with Vanimelda.

No one looked forward to this. But they knew they had no other choice.

Estela meanwhile, was sewing something- a gift for Vanimelda. Among other gifts.

She had told Vorondo what to do. And she did not doubt him.

She wrote in books, poetry and songs she composed. Some were laments. Others were war-marches but some were full of hope and joy stolen.

And there were letters she needed to write. Letters to those she had known. Farewells.

Estela wiped tears from her eyes, as she knew it was time. She was fighting for her precious daughter's future, and that of Middle-Earth but she missed Vanimelda, already, so much, she could not bear it. She had already lost one child. She thanked the Valar that he was in a better place. But she swore not to be weak.

"Just this once," she whispered.

* * *

On the eve of the march, Estela agreed, that Vanimelda was to go back to Lindon. Sauron's eye would likely be on their host, but she was taking no chances with Melda, so there was a strong guard about her.

She knelt in front of Melda. This could be the last time she saw her daughter.

She never feared going into battle, until now. How strange and different it was to her. But now, she had a daughter, and she feared she would never see her again. She hoped with all her heart that Vorondo would be able to protect Melda.

She stroked the girl's hair, and brushed it gently. Her fingers went to the pendant at her throat.

"Remember," she whispered in Quenya. "You are the daughter of Ereinion Gil-Galad, High King of the Noldor and the Elves of Middle-Earth, and of a shieldmaiden. You are the scion of a proud warrior line that has fought against evil, despite overwhelming odds, and we have triumphed in the end. Never have we backed down. Never have we allowed evil to overwhelm and win against us. And we never will."

"Yes, Amil," she whispered.

"Your father and I go to fight for the future of all Middle-Earth- and that includes you, our daughter, of which the future is yours to inherit and share with others. We could stay, but this means we will have to wait until Sauron destroys _you_\- along with all the hopes and dreams of the future everyone has. We can never allow this to happen- no one must allow this to happen. So we will go. Many of our kin are dead- but we go not to avenge the past and sacrifice the future- we go to save the future of those who have always flourished and lived in the light. Remember Melda, we have thought about this carefully, and we do not make such decisions in haste, anger, grief, or over-confident pride, or even exuberance. We go because we must- but even a small bump of good may yet topple a great evil, like Sauron."

"Yes, Ammë," she whispered. Estela pulled her into an embrace and held her tightly, memorising her scent, although she knew it by now, she wanted it to stay with her, to fill the empty crevices and hollows of her heart. To feel the warmth of that diminutive body, and feel her mane of hair, smoother than silk. She exhaled, tears misting in her eyes.

"Melin, Vanimelda," she whispered. "Always remember- you are not alone. And your father and I love you more than anything or anyone in Eä. And we always will, no matter what happens to us and no matter where we go. _We love you_. You are _never_ alone.

"Yes, Ammë," she whispered, choking on tears. "I love you too." And this, at least, was a goodbye, compared to the ones she never received- not with her father, or mother- not with her forefather, grandparents, uncles, aunts or cousins.

She was grateful for this.

"_Namárië" _she whispered, kissing her daughter for what could be the last time in a very long time- or forever.

They rode out early in the morning. And they went south, through the Misty Mountains, where Durin King of the Longbeards, would meet them with his forces. Then, at the eaves of Eryn Galen, they would go south-east.

To Mordor.

* * *

Quenya words:

Melin…- "I love you…"

Ánin apsenë- Quenya for "Forgive me."

"Eca, a mitta lambetya cendelessë orcova!" – "Go French-Kiss an orc!" (Literal: "Begone! Insert your tongue in an orc's mouth!")

"Súrë túla cendeletyallo!"- "Wind pours from your mouth!" (Literal: "Wind is coming from your face")

Sindarin words:

"Sevig thû úan!"- "You smell like a monster!" (Literal: "You have the stench of a monster!")

"Pedin i phith in aníron, a nin ú-cheniathog!"- "I can say all that I want, and you won't understand me!" (Literal: "I say the words I want, and you can't understand me")

_**There, I hope it wasn't TOO dramatic, just as you requested! Not unless you count the briefing fight, or the goodbyes. **_

_**I am still conflicted as to saving Gil-Galad. But remember- no matter what happens- the end is not the end!**_


	45. Chapter Forty-Five

_**Well, in this chapter we definitely see battles. We'll also get a view into Estela's unexplained past- her mother, whose story had never been told, until now- at least partially.**_

* * *

Chapter Forty-Five

Estela had always enjoyed riding. But now she was utterly silent. Beside her Ereinion rode, and she knew their minds dwelt on the same thing- their daughter and the goodbyes they made. And whether or not they would see her again.

Ereinion knew he could no more ask Estela to stay behind, any more than he could himself. But he feared losing all of them. He had already lost his son- thanks to the evil of Sauron. And now all he had to fear was losing his wife and daughter.

Glorfindel's mind was far away. Once released by Mandos, he had travelled all over Valinor, simultaneously enjoying and preparing himself for his return to a Middle-Earth very different from the one he had left.

There were some things he would like to ask the queen. But he knew better than to attempt straight away.

The passageway through the Misty Mountains was not the easiest, but Estela had had worse. And elves bore with it better than the men, whom they worried would either slip and fall, or freeze in the cold altitude. Or be soaked. The horses too, posed concern for them. So the elves dismounted and helped their allies, and their animals as best they could.

It seemed like an eternity to the humans until they managed to get them safely down. Relieved, they finally continued, until they caught side of the Anduin River.

"We make camp," Ereinion instructed softly. They nodded and went about setting camp, pitching tents, feeding, grooming and watering the animals, and building fires. Estela's emerald eyes scanned the surrounding area.

She fingered the crest-shaped pendant with its polished malachite stone in the centre, from which grew interlocking squares and knots coming from the top, bottom and sides of the stone. She smiled. She never took off this pendant. This wedding present that Ereinion gave to her, even made it on the field of battle. No gift had been more precious to her, save for the offspring he had begotten with her.

Estela sighed as she felt Ereinion come near. "Yes?" She asked.

"Oropher and his warriors are not here," he said quietly. "And neither are the Dwarves.

Estela looked around. "We must be on our guard," she said. "They- might have been ambushed. And we might as well. Or they might be late. I would rather take no chances." He nodded.

"Very well." Although he looked longingly at her, and neither wanted him to leave, both knew he had to.

Estela sighed as she watched her husband depart painfully, even though she knew he would not go far, and unhappily went about assisting others some more.

"My lady," a courier came to her. She frowned. "The High King wishes your presence in the briefing tent."

She nodded and thanked him. It didn't take long for her to find it, even in a new campsite.

Elrond was already there. Ereinion looked up and smiled when she arrived. "You are sure that Oropher, Amdír and Durin got the messages that you sent?" She asked them.

"We are certain of it," Ereinion responded. Elrond nodded.

Estela sighed. She looked at everyone else present. "Any other problems?"

"The Dwarves of the Firebeard and Broadbeam clans are engaged in conflicts of their own," one of the officers said. "It will be a while before they can take the long march to Mordor."

Estela nodded. "Sauron is indeed cunning. I suppose he had already learnt of our movements. His spies are everywhere, and he does not always need them to hear and see of what goes on. What about his armies? Where do they march?"

"The orcs are marching in our direction. Some are already attacking the Dwarves of the various clans, but our allies are not in such dire circumstances. We can only pray for their victory and survival. As for our Northmen allies, including the Éothéod, we have had word from them. They are marching here as we speak. The Haradrim and Easterlings under Sauron's banner are not as many as we had thought. Of course this is no reason _not _to be wary, but it is still a relief. They are on their way to the Black Gates of Mordor, even now. King Oropher and King Amdír are on their way here, they have just sent word."

Estela could have slumped in relief. "Good. But that does not answer-"

Before she could even finish the sentence, an ear-splitting scream was heard outside.

"Attack, we're under attack!" Cursing they equipped themselves. It was foolish to assume they were weak simply because they had long hours of marching and crossing mountains. These were elves, and they were not as wearied as men.

Estela emerged from the tent first, she saw the attackers. "Dunlendings!" She shouted. Not Easterlings, or Haradrim, or even Dark Númenóreans, so they were not dangerously misinformed at least.

"Shield wall!" Ereinion roared, at his wife's suggestion.

The warriors all banded together- the elves slightly easier than the weary humans, who despite their Númenórean blood, had yet to gain the required rest they needed to recover the fullness of their strengths.

Their shields made a single, straight wall in front of them, and Ereinion shouted, "Hold your ground!"

He had a much clearer battle-field voice than she did, Estela thought sullenly. She needed to stay close to her husband if she wanted her voice to be heard- projected through _him_.

"Stand!" Estela managed to shout loud enough. The Dunlendings charged them. From what Estela saw of them they were covered in soot, dirt and other things, their teeth were rotten and their hair were not only matted and unkempt, but stuck out, so that they resembled broom-brushes, mops or dusters, made of straw, except that they were so filthy it required more than one quick glance to discover what colour their hair actually was. These hill-folk were armed with axes and things like pitchforks and lit torches.

"Hold!" She shouted as they attacked. Axes and other things were thrust at them, most hit the shields with a loud clunk. "Now!" They thrust their swords through the small, hard-to-reach gaps through the shield wall and the Dunlendings emitted strange shrieks and howls as they were stabbed. The first wave fell to the ground, but most of them still kept coming.

"Pull backwards!" And so they did. The Dunlendings charged, breaking rank- as if they had any in the first place, but now they were scattered- which was what Estela was hoping for. The Noldor and the Númenóreans pulled back, or rather, more like dragged themselves through the mud of the banks of the Anduin, which the elves could move through more easily than the humans, but still needed to help their allies. The Dunlendings were about to attack when Estela ordered, "Halt!" And shouted, "Surround them all- cut them down!"

The battle was bloody, but not on so large a scale as other battles she had been in (of course, there were few attackers).

Fighting through the mud, thick, red blood- not the inky, thin blood of the orcs- gushed out and fell upon the ground in pools. The Dunlendings were vastly disadvantaged in every way. They didn't stand a chance. Soon most of them lay, either face down with only their protruding hair for all to see, or face up, upon the mud.

Ereinion strode through the campsite and surveyed the damage. Nothing extensive- if anything at all, really. But they could all use a good rest.

Estela's swords hung limply from her sides. She was exhausted. Not so much in her body, but more in her mind and soul.

She crouched upon the ground. One Dunlending's eyes were staring blankly at the darkening sky. She gently closed the lids.

She hated this. They were not orcs. They were deceived. She already felt like filth.

Estela sighed and rose. They should get a proper send-off, according to their own customs. Cremation with respect. She would not tolerate any disrespect towards such dead- not even if they were foes.

Ereinion shook his head. "They knew," he said softly. "They knew they didn't stand a chance. _He_ knew. They must have known."

And yet still they attacked. Strong was their hatred, and the influence of Sauron.

Estela knew it would be a very hard war to fight, even if victory, somehow came easily to them.

As soon as dawn broke they were out. They would have gone sooner, but their allies needed more rest than they did.

Off they went. And soon they came across Oropher.

The Greenwood and Lothlórien elves did not look in the least bit pleased, but may have been relieved to see them. As it turned out, they too had been attacked. It had not put them in a good mood, but they had greeted and accepted help gratefully and graciously.

There were bodies that needed burning according to Dunlending customs. Their dead needed to be burnt as well- this was war, there was no safe resting place that may go unviolated. Wounds needed to be treated, people fed and morale boosted. Then they had to leave.

The Dwarves of Khazad-dûm arrived soon enough. Durin lifted his war-hammer high in salute. The Noldor elves responded in kind.

After this, scouts and spies were sent in secret, ahead of them in all directions.

Technically they should have done so earlier, but with crossing the mountains, and barely having enough time to set up camp… well, now tempers were becoming frayed, it was a miracle everyone was able not to lash out at anyone around them.

Estela sat down, the next midday, eating a bowl of stew. Best enjoy it while she can, she thought. She'll have to survive by lembas soon enough, they all would.

She missed her daughter so much it threatened to tear her apart if she dwelt on it. She longed to have her daughter, her son and her husband with her. Right now, Ereinion was preparing for the next meeting.

Too bad.

Glorfindel walked by with a bowl of stew. "Lord Glorfindel," she called out. He stopped and bowed his head. "My lady," she moved to make room for him.

He sat down. The stew was untouched in her hands. She didn't have much of an appetite it seemed.

"How are things with you?" She asked. "Not so bad," he replied. "What of you, my lady?"

"I have been worse," she said. She exhaled. "Tell me about Itarillë," she asked quietly. "Was she happy- with _him_?"

"Yes, my lady, I believe she was," Glorfindel said softly. "She missed her mother and longed for her and you as well, terribly. She was rarely homesick for Valinor, or if she was, barely showed it."

Estela looked down at the ground. "And Tuor? What was he like?"

"A noble, honest man," Glorfindel responded. "He was just, he was honest and likeable- he didn't need to dress richly for anyone to admire him, to put on airs and be charming. He was very intelligent, wise and kind. All admired him for that, even if they didn't want to."

Estela was quiet for a while. "And Maeglin?" She asked. "Him, I never met, though upon Valinor I saw a great deal of Írissë- Aredhel," she explained. "Was he always as dark as they said he was?"

Glorfindel was quiet. "I am not sure. I rarely saw him. He was great, admired and renowned. But I can never be too sure of him."

Estela breathed out a sigh. "I am sorry Glorfindel, I do not want to remind you of such things."

"No harm done, my lady," Glorfindel said. He was quiet. "I wanted to ask some things as well."

"Oh?" Estela asked, her eyebrows raising. "Such as?"

Glorfindel hesitated. "It's alright, you may speak freely with me," she said gently.

"Your mother," Glorfindel said after a while. Estela started. "When I was on Valinor, I learned that she was a Telerin princess."

Estela went silent for a long time. She was vaguely aware of others listening intently to their conversation. But she did owe him this.

"Yes, she was," Estela said. "Her father was Arcalimar, first son of Olwë, King of the Lindar- or Telerin elves."

Everyone stared wide-eyed. This they had not expected.

Glorfindel hesitated. "I'm sorry my lady, I did not mean to-"

"No, it's quiet alright," Estela sighed. "Her story has never been heard for all the ages we have lived. In fact many would believe she never even existed- if not for my existence."

Why was she doing this? Perhaps she did not want her mother's story to fade to nothing? Or the good deeds of her parents to be left forgotten and ignored by elves and Mandos alike? Either way she could not keep as silent about this as she had been for centuries.

"What was she like?" Glorfindel asked softly. "I heard she was the most beautiful maiden upon Valinor."

Estela laughed softly. "You have not heard wrong. Even I must admit it, even without the bias of a daughter. She was called the Star of the Sea. And that was what her name meant, anyway."

The Wood-Elves were listening to this intently anyway.

"She was a very joyful person my mother. Highly intelligent, and every time anyone wept or was upset, they ended up laughing. She could bring life and laughter even in the darkest of moments. Her father loved her fiercely. Everyone did- they were so protective of her. And she was born much later than my father, in Alqualondë. She had one elder brother who was born on the Great Journey- but he disappeared during that time. Only Morgoth knew what happened to my uncle," she said darkly. "I do not believe her brother was re-embodied after a spell in Mandos. So I think we can guess what happened to him." They all shuddered. "My mother was born by far, later. She was the only surviving- and the last- child of my maternal grandparents. She loved to travel among all the cities and towns of all the Eldar. She learned their stories- their languages fluently, and everything about their cultures. She was at heart, a modest girl of the shores and seas, but she was highly aware and comfortable with others different to her and liked meeting new people." Estela smiled.

"She first met my father while on a visit to Tirion. She stayed at the home of her aunt Eärwen- the Lady Galadriel's mother and wife of Arafinwë, or Finarfin as the Sindar called him. She was very close to her cousin. So close they might have been sisters. They were the best of friends. I do not know how exactly they met, but they did fall in love. Everyone was happy then. No one thought anything bad would ever happen- not even my grandfather who was terrified of losing his daughter to marriage," she chuckled. "He certainly made it difficult for him, although his own father and mother, his wife and pretty much everyone else, including his sister and her husband, seemed delighted. My mother herself was uneasy with the thought of marriage. I think she was afraid of binding herself to anyone for all eternity when she can never be sure of her own feelings- what if she loved another, but did not know it- what if there was someone else she loved. But even she could not deny. She was one half of him- that's how much they loved each other." Estela was silent.

"It took a long while. There were a number of obstacles. One of which was my maternal grandfather. The other were the ones who loved my mother- unrequited of course. But of those they were many."

Glorfindel smiled. "I heard they fought over the right to sit next to her."

Estela laughed. "They should know better. My grandfather wouldn't let anyone _that_ close to her."

"And I also heard that poets and musicians would have entire competitions outdoing each other, trying to compose about, and impress her."

Estela smirked. "Oh, my mother. You can't imagine what it was like. In fact, you'll never even see the like."

"They said you look like her." Estela scoffed. "I take after both parents. Place my face next to either, and I would resemble them both, even though they look nothing alike. But I wasn't as appealing as she was." Glorfindel raised his eyebrows. "What? It's true. My mother attracted people like bees to honey, even if she did not want it. I only attract them, when rousing them for war." Glorfindel laughed.

"How did she die?" He asked quietly.

Estela sobered. "She faded. There was an attack… And she believed me and my father to be dead. And others. She took no part in the War of Wrath- as you've discovered, my father took pains to keep our existence a secret, for fear of Morgoth. After that he never smiled, and nearly killed himself if not for me. He had always hated himself. But now…" She was silent. She spoke more than she should have and they all knew it.

"My mother had the most unusual eyes, and hair." She said after a while, as if in a deep thought. "Her hair cascaded like a waterfall, thick and curling, or gently waving, and often went past her knees. It was the exact colour of the purest, finest, polished silver, and even had a sheen- it glowed like _mithril_. Or like the sun upon the surface of a frozen lake. It was almost blinding, but not garishly so. Her eyes were utterly unusual. They were violet." Glorfindel was startled when she said this. No one knew where it came from, neither of her parents had it, and I don't have it. But they were even richer in colour and more luminous than amethysts. They were always sparkling and dancing."

Estela went far away. Her mother had faded in grief. Her eyes would not have sparkled or danced with life the way she had remembered it, but would have been hollow, empty and void of all life. Emptier than anything she would have ever seen. She shuddered at the thought.

Her mother who did not deserve to die like this. Hopefully she would not be forgotten.

Estela's daughter had her eyes.

_Please Valar, All-Father, do not let her share my mother's fate, _Estela never wished for anything more if she can't have her family all at once, than at least that- and never outliving her husband or her daughter. It might sound too much but she had been through too much.

* * *

Some people say the stars have eyes. Well, there were Maiar with ears and eyes, and the Valar certainly were the same. High above the mists of the world, they watched and listened.

"Can she do it?" Manwë wondered. "Is she capable?"

"She is strong," Tulkas agreed. "Her spirit is true."

"She will not fail," Vairë intoned.

"She would carry the Ring and throw it into the flames of Mount Doom if that was the task."

"Sadly there is only one left," Varda said. "Only one to change their fates. Only one to renew and prove wrong, and prove that she is strong enough to do good- even at her own cost."

"Oh? And Celebrimbor has not proven thus? And what of her children?" Oromë asked.

"Celebrimbor has failed." Varda sighed. "Now it is only up to her. She is the last one left who remembered the days of light- and darkness gone by. She must be the one to do it."

"But what of her children? What part do they have in the renewing of this world?" Yavanna posed the question.

Both Manwë and Varda stared out in thought.

"Their trials will come," Varda said finally. "Not like the parents. But Vanimelda will never be alone. And he will never be forsaken."

* * *

Eryn Galen stood there. And south-east, stood the Gardens of the Entwives.

Only there were no Entwives. In fact, there was not even life.

The area was barren and desolate. No trace of green grew, no flower, no fruit- nothing- nothing like what the Ents and the Entwives had been doing since their creation. No tree was in sight. No golden sheaf of wheat. No blade of grass. And the wood that was left were stumps, hacked crudely by the looks of it, and undeniably dead. No single living thing was in sight.

The elves gasped as they saw the place- the whole landscape. How empty and void of life, how _barren _it was. This could not- can never be- the Gardens of the Entwives!

The maps were pulled out and rechecked. And all the while Estela had the most awful, most terrible feeling that they were on the right course. Never had she been less happy to be proven right.

The Entwives were gone. The gardens were gone. The life was gone.

And they knew who was responsible.

Sauron would never want them to be aided with supplies by the Entwives. No matter if he already had more than enough fuel to keep the fires of Mordor going. No ally, no friend, would remain for the Last Alliance.

The sky clouded grey and wept as thunder rumbled and lightning flashed, and somewhere, Estela sensed the Valar, particularly Yavanna Kementári, wept.

But something else was wrong.

Estela froze. She looked down. Black-coloured liquid, like ink but much thinner, and much more plentiful than even a whole stock could produce, littered the ground.

And it was fresh.

There were tracks. Fresh tracks, too light to be seen on the dark ground, being washed by the rain. But the rain could not conceal them from elven eyes- or in particular, Estela's eyes.

These were newly-made. And even though the rain was erasing them, amidst the deep smell of the earth, Estela could smell something more than smoke and iron and burnt wood. A foul, but very faint underlying of something she knew very well.

Something that had left a strap of torn leather on its path to the forest.

Some scent that despite being faint, and covered up by the rain and the mud, was still strong enough to be present.

"Orcs!" She shouted. _"Orcs!"_

By a miracle it seemed, they heard her.

And at that moment, the orcs charged.

They ran out from behind the trees that remained- the dead ones. Snarling, and eyes glinting eagerly with an evil, blood-thirsty malice, the orcs went for the attack.

"Archers!" Ereinion shouted. Drilled into perfection, requiring no further instruction, the archers came to the front, besides others, and shot.

The first wave of orcs fell.

"Spears!" Estela shouted. They threw them. "Shield wall!" They formed a shield wall.

"Flaming arrows!" She shouted.

They shot the orcs. Of course, fire would do very little with the rain, but it was as if the Valar would not dampen their chances of victory despite the weather.

"Advance!" The order was given out either by Elrond or Ereinion, but she could not tell, as she was too busy both fighting and improvising.

They marched forwards. There was a gap, Estela noted. "Second column, fall back!" She shouted.

They were now divided, into two groups. At the flank was Estela, at one wing.

There were a number of orcs, yes, but they were different. Some orcs were bigger- larger. No, some were slightly longer in build, and less hunched. They were also sallower. Others looked like they had been burnt until their skins were crispy and charred and they were twisted. The way they moved was also very different. And they attacked separately. They were different kinds of orcs. From different places.

And by the looks of it, they did not count themselves as the same as each other.

"Advance!" Ereinion shouted. And his wing advanced. "Stay!" Estela shouted.

They smashed into the orcs. Slicing them down, stabbing and bleeding them. After a while, Ereinion shouted. "Fall back!"

They went for a retreat. Pulling back. Almost impossible to do in a shield wall, but these were the finest soldiers in Middle-Earth.

The more twisted orcs, ran forwards in pursuit, waiting to slaughter the 'retreating' enemy. The other, taller orcs, stayed behind. These were well-trained. But not nearly enough. Good thing too.

Estela saw it- a gap. Foolish orcs. She shouted. "Charge!"

And they broke into a run. "Circle them!"

And so they did. They smashed through them, and surrounded them, slaughtering them. Black blood gushed and spurted in fountains or geysers. Estela and the ones that followed her, all surrounded them, cutting off any escape route once the panicked orcs realised what was happening. They were slaughtered to an orc. None survived. Dead carcasses of orcs piled on the mud. Black blood mixed with puddles of dirty water. They all lay in grotesque positions, all with shocked, horrified, or blank stares at the thundering skies.

Meanwhile Ereinion had shouted, "Advance!" The troops on his wing froze. The orcs who were pursuing squealed in shock and horror as they froze with spears and swords imbedded within their gut.

His wing advanced. "Surround them!" Ereinion shouted. "Slaughter them! Show no mercy! They will give you none! Let none escape!"

And they too were slaughtered.

Finally it was over.

The orcs had no funerals. No rituals for a farewell. In any case, no one was fussed about burning them in a pile.

Elendil was panting heavily. Isildur came to his father's aid, but he was brushed off.

"I will take a host," Estela announced. "We need to see if there are any more. And if there are any Entwives left. And if Sauron sends more forces to attack us." She took off.

They found nothing. No trail. Absolutely nothing. Any deserting orc was swiftly killed. None who set eyes upon the host of Gil-Galad, the Imladris elves, the Wood-Elves or the Men of Gondor and Arnor lived to tell the tale.

They were exhausted by the time they set camp. There had been no sign of the Entwives- a devastating thing for the elves. So the victory felt almost as if it was not worth it.

"We have received a message," Ereinion said as soon as she arrived back. "Anárion is set to meet us on our way in two days. He brings a great host, and they have won victories on the way." Estela nodded.

"Two days?" She asked for confirmation. She frowned. "We had best stay alert."

The rain had stopped, at least.

"I spotted some orcs," Estela said. "But we killed them all. Let Sauron think that he has victory for now! He does not know what awaits him."

Sauron had yet to feel _their_ wrath. But soon, he would.

They refreshed sufficiently once they found a good place to settle in. The elves were all angered by the destruction of the Gardens, and presumably, the slaughter of the Entwives.

Estela closed her eyes. She wanted nothing more than to ride back to Lindon and see her daughter, to crush her into her embrace and _never_ let go, but of course, that was impossible.

Exhausted, she wondered about the times she saw her mother soothing her father after a battle.

Then she searched for Ereinion.

Not one week into their journey. And already, two battles.

She found Ereinion in a similar state. He managed to smile when she came into the tent.

Estela had been bathed. "I missed you," she admitted. He gave a wide grin. "Well, I was hoping you would. Why not stay as long as we can?"

She chuckled softly. These were rare moments.

How was it, that when such peace and happiness were threatened, people begin to cherish them more?

* * *

**_Well, the first battle- the surprise attack by the Dunlendings- was loosely inspired by the Battle of Hastings. But the last battle was inspired by the Battle of Chaeronea. Yes, we saw a hint of a story about Estela's mother- I'm not sure I'm going to write something about her after this. Maybe, but who knows? Anyway, there is still the _other_ issue to decide upon. _**


	46. Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Six

Estela awoke the next day, refreshed. Taking deep breaths of air, the Noldorin Queen and shieldmaiden looked around her as she stepped outside their tent.

This was how it was. The air was crisp, and dawn was soon coming. Soon they would be riding.

Estela did her exercises to prepare herself for a long ride, and for battle.

She then took a sponge bath with lukewarm water- a luxury really- she lathered and scrubbed herself thoroughly, even washing her hair. Next, she dried herself thoroughly and anointed herself all over with _Niphredil_ and _Elanor_ oil. This was not merely a luxury for her, but a necessity. It cleansed and purified her body and mind, and if her mind and _hröa_ were pure, so would her _fëa_.

She sat, wrapped in a towel inside the tent, and anointed and combed her hair. It had grown really long, even for her standards- as long as her mother's. The rich, burnished copper colour seemed to shame every other shade as being pale in comparison. The gold and silver streaks glowed and glittered amidst the copper- tell-tale signs off her heritage.

Estela remembered every time, her mother used to do her hair. Even if there were servants or volunteers, her mother had always insisted. She had always loved those special, intimate moments. They both did.

She would comb it in gentle, but firm, long strokes, always soothing and seemingly like a massage in its effects, even though it was not on sinew and skin. She remembered her mother rubbing her hair, cooing in her ear, gently stroking and rubbing her, just before she went to bed, or before a ball.

And she did it for Melda too.

After doing that Estela braided her hair. After weaving a circlet through it, she bound the finished braids up in rings- large loops of braids that attached themselves in hidden knots. Small gold rings too were woven in. All her hair was bound, save for the streamers- long locks, but would not hinder her in any way.

Estela sighed. The shieldmaiden's hairstyle. She had grown used to having her hair loose. But didn't Glorfindel tell her that the Balrog dragged him down when he threw it, by his hair?

_I'm a warrior, now. _She thought sadly. _Once, long ago, I was a daughter, granddaughter, niece and cousin-and a princess even- then it was all gone. Then I was a wife and a mother, but where are my children now? My son- gone, before he even lived, ripped away from me and sent out of this _world. _My daughter- in Lindon and in life-threatening danger every minute of her life- likely to be tortured and killed before she could pose a threat to evil! Even I can't be sure of her safety. My crafts- I have no time for those- I must put them aside! I have only my husband, and my status as queen and shieldmaiden left to me. _

She pushed aside such thoughts and got dressed. A tunic-dress and surcoat made of leather coated with blue silks, covered with stars and embroidered with gold. A cuirass which was utterly unique and more like a corset made of leather that emphasized her waist than a piece of bulky armour. But it was metal, the only difference was, it was moulded to her form, and fit around her horizontally- a gilded gold thing, that was scaled slightly and carved, fitted with hidden buckles. A gorget, which despite being designed to protect her neck, was beautiful, carved and intricate, to seem like a piece of jewellery than a piece of armour. Knee-length boots, with greaves built within. Gilded gauntlets. The rest of her armour was hidden- most of them were fluted and designed to be worn underneath clothing, coated with silks. And there was the cape. Not a pointless ornament or insignia rank itself, but also functional. Strips of cloth- the lightest, most billowy silk, this one in blues with gold lining and embroidery, that when riding fast, inflate with air- the purpose- to snag arrows being shot at her from behind. It had a light framework of wicker inside, and it was effective- she'd tried.

What was the purpose of all this unique armour- they weren't just extremely effective. They drew out the orcs' attention, and anyone else on the side of the Enemy. This was the Noldorin Queen. And she knew Sauron both hated and feared her with a passion. She might as well, he'd be looking for her anyway, and she can draw their attention to her, without risking anyone else's life more than she had to.

Estela looked at herself in the mirror, and saw her eyes narrow. It was time. Time for justice.

She left the tent, everyone staring at her, as she moved past. Many of them gawked and forgot to bow to the queen, which was fine with Estela. Where was her husband?

Ereinion stared at her choice of armour. "Impressive." Then he looked highly suspicious. "But why do I get the feeling that you are planning something?"

Estela smirked. "Probably because I am."

She had prepared herself. It was the elvish- and particularly shieldmaiden's- culture, to bathe and anoint oneself with oil before battle, and to comb one's hair carefully as well. Estela also wore into battle, the pendant that was a wedding gift from Ereinion, inscribed with her name on the inside- as if no one would know who she was- in case she was struck down.

Estela wasted no more time talking. She ate something- bowls of stew were being served, and slivers of lembas for energy to be eaten with them. Shaking her head, her thoughts wandered again to her daughter.

Ereinion sat next to her as she absently chewed and swallowed. "Love, won't you tell me what is going on?" He asked quietly, aware that they had an audience.

Estela swallowed a mouthful of stew. "I'm going to Gondor- I'm riding to Osgiliath on my own, ahead of you all."

Ereinion froze dead. _"What?!"_

"Keep your voice down," she hissed in Quenya.

Ereinion stared at her, _"Are you mad?"_ He hissed. _"Do you think I will let you-"_

"You must." Estela hissed back. "You know I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. And furthermore, I believe Anárion is in danger, and so is Osgiliath."

Ereinion stared at her. She could see him breathing in and out deeply, trying to rein in his temper.

"You must be joking." He finally said when he could keep his voice calm.

"Ereinion, you know this is no time for personal feelings!" Estela exclaimed in a hushed tone. "You of all people… you know this even better than me! I have to do this, Ereinion. I have to do this, or our chances of failing will triple. Without Anárion's help- and Sauron knows that he is isolated, and for now, far away from us and our aid. Sauron will conduct measures to keep you, Elendil, Oropher and Amdír, Durin and all your forces from helping Anárion. That leaves it to me, and who better knows how to conduct warfare and move quickly in stealth?"

Ereinion could say nothing.

"You know if we allow even one of them to fail, the Last Alliance will be over, and all would have failed."

Ereinion was silent for a long time.

"And what if I want and order you to stay by me?" He asked, eyes flashing as he turned to Estela.

"You must." Estela said. "Let me go- if not for the sake of our closest friends and allies, then for me, and for our children so the future would be theirs, not Sauron's and his orcs."

Ereinion looked down at his bowl.

"Very well then," and his words were heavy. "Go. But take extra care. And be wary. Do not be long, Estela." Her eyes softened.

"I love you," he whispered. "_Melin_, Ereinion," she whispered in return.

* * *

Anárion, son of Elendil and the city of Osgiliath was under attack.

Slashing his sword and cutting down the nearest orc, the others came, nonetheless. More orcs came. He slashed and cut them down.

They surged through the city- and soon they would also take Minas Anor.

They could not afford to lose.

Helplessly, Anárion could only kill one orc, to have it be replaced by three more in the very least. Queen Estela was right- the orcs were a plague of insects.

Anárion ducked an axe swing and sliced an orc in its belly, causing it stop dead (there's the pun) and squawk before falling backwards. But more orcs came running. Anárion yelled and spun slicing left and right. Yet still more orcs came.

"Fall back!" He bellowed in Adûnaic. "Fall back to Minas Anor!"

The men fell back, but even then, the black-shafted and tipped arrows of the orcs shot them down.

Anárion feinted to the right, and cut down the orc charging, before following his own order.

Women screamed, clutching their children to them as Anárion yelled to protect them at all costs. The archers shot their arrows and a wave of orcs fell.

Suddenly he heard a sound- not an orc horn.

He knew that sound. Riders on horseback shot through the city- elves. They rode as hard and fast as they could, shooting orcs in their hundreds, and a horse came flying into view.

Upon its back was a lady in unique armour, shining like a torch or a beacon in the early light of morning. Hard to believe they made it so fast, but there it was.

Estela charged through the streets of Osgiliath, riding faster than the wind, shooting arrows from her bow, as unique as her armour. The arrows were shot in their hundreds- countless arrows shot felling even more orcs, their corpses, splashed about like water. Estela changed position. In a daring move that was sure to be immortalised in texts, songs and poems alike, Estela changed positions, and lay flat on the horse's back, before rolling to one side, and using her legs to guide the reins while she shot arrows while lying on her side, shooting them and massacring hundreds of orcs all the while, as she raced throughout the city.

Sauron apparently thought Osgiliath was going to be easy.

Estela switched to the other side, and then lay flat on her back, and spinning until she was back to front, still shooting countless arrows from behind. The orcs kept falling. She spotted a troll. Time to get close. She moved back, facing the front, as she shot. Galloping as fast as they could, Estela's horse reared at her behest, and she crushed the skulls of the flaying orcs, while jumping into the air, and shooting the orc in the soft tissue of the eyes.

She was airborne for a while, before she landed on the horse which had galloped to catch her.

And there she went, shooting the orcs, and jumping upon the very few trolls she saw.

"Shield wall!" She shouted to her warriors, still shooting.

They grouped together. "Archers, behind- fire!" She shouted. They fired their arrows into the air, and onto the orcs.

"Swords and shields- charge!" Estela shouted. They pushed forwards, and Estela dismounted to do the same.

She fired her last arrow, as she flew off the horse, then drew her swords. At the sight of her charging they were already afraid as it was.

Estela and the others pushed them back. The archers whom she had instructed to take the high posts, shot down at the arriving- then fleeing- orcs. Then they jumped down at her signal, and Estela drove them away.

She was right. They were in trouble.

"Fire the flaming arrows!" She shouted.

They did so at the retreating orcs. The orcs squealed and squawked as they fell.

Estela finally pulled the swords backwards in a swiping motion, getting rid of most of the black blood that was slathered upon it. "Set a watch," she instructed one of the lieutenants. He immediately nodded and went about it.

Estela turned to a very stunned, gawping Anárion and his knights. She sighed. "Anárion, Prince of Gondor and Arnor, I am sorry to say that this is no time for formal greetings. Your father, brother, and other members of the Alliance are heading this way. We need to fortify and get everyone out of here. Then and only once they have arrived, can we move."

Anárion mutely nodded and sent his men to help fortify their city.

* * *

"So Sauron is apparently too cunning, but not cunning enough," Estela said calmly. She declined a goblet of wine. Even though elves don't get drunk as easily as humans and even dwarves, she was taking no chances- though she had never been drunk a day in her life. A shieldmaiden kept her head clear at all times.

"Yes," Anárion said wearily. He didn't decline _his_. In fact he needed it.

"It's best that as soon as we get the people out of the city, we leave for Mordor," Estela said. "But we _must_ know where Sauron intends to strike next."

"I think I have a way to figure that out," Anárion said softly. Estela raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

He looked highly apprehensive. "Come with me."

It was strange that he took her to a bridge of all places, and then up into the tower. He then nodded to the guards who unbolted and unlocked the door. Estela was puzzled. What in the world could they be keeping that was so valuable?

It was a while before they reached the top of the tower. Estela's eyes widened when she saw what was at the top. A large round room, underneath a domed ceiling of painted and enamelled, midnight blue with gilded stars scattered throughout.

"This is the Dome of Stars," Anárion said. There was a small stone plinth in the centre of the room.

There was something on the plinth. A perfectly round and smooth orb, made of what appeared to be black stone, or at least, heavy crystal, polished to such a gleaming sheen. It was massive, alright. Very large. So deep a black, it was, that she had never seen the like, save for her daughter's hair- but that was shiny. It had greyish-white rings, like the patterns seen in stone or rings in wood. But this object neither emitted nor reflected even the tiniest beam of light. But there _was_ light. A medium-sized crack in the middle, she saw, coloured a deep, but glowing, red. But as she registered in shock, that it was not there before, because it appeared to be growing in length and width and light. Furthermore, the patterns like grey or white rings seemed to swirl and swim, the red light glowed brighter and increased in size and breadth.

Estela gasped. This was not a stone or crystal object- at least not an ordinary one.

This was a Seeing Stone. One of her grandfather's.

"How did you get this?" Estela demanded in a shaking voice- shaking with rage, pain, and terror.

Anárion looked taken aback at her reaction. And by his look, her expression must have truly been frightening and unique.

"I-" He started. "We brought it from Númenor."

"Númenor had the stones?! The _Palantíri_?!"

Anárion's jaw dropped. He looked shocked- no, astounded beyond belief. Yes, her look must have truly been one of a kind.

She staggered, and fell to the floor, not really seeing anything. "My lady!" Anárion cried out, but she pulled away when he tried to help. He knew something was really wrong. Elves don't fall or trip. And in truth something had been torn out from deep within Estela's self, for what she felt, in a way no weed had ever been.

In a shaking, but quiet voice, Estela whispered, "Do you even know what you have here?"

At this point, Anárion, Prince of Gondor and Arnor, could have hit himself. Hard.

"Your grandfather," he whispered. "He made the Seeing Stones."

Estela just stared unseeing at the plinth from where she had dropped onto the floor on her knees.

She couldn't even speak. She couldn't even move.

But then she could. And what did she do?

She unsheathed her sword, and in a cry of fury and rage, she charged towards the Seeing Stone.

A good thing they weren't alone there- Anárion might have been Númenórean, but he would have been neither fast enough nor strong enough, to hold her back. One of Estela's old followers held her back. It was Maltariel.

"My lady," she hissed. Estela gave a wretched moan. _"Estela."_

It was a sign of how they used the _Palantír_ so frequently that they really didn't think too much of it until now.

At the sound of her name, Estela gave a choked moan and again sank to the ground. Maltariel held her there for a long time.

Of course Fëanor made the _Palantíri_, just as he made the Silmarils and devised the Tengwar.

Estela emptied her thoughts and breathed deeply. After what seemed like an eternity, she finally found the strength to stand up.

"I don't know what you've been doing," she said numbly. "And I don't care to know. I understand your reasons, but-" her voice grew icy. "It doesn't mean I have to like it. And you should know that even though these…. _Things_…. Cannot lie, they nonetheless try to deceive those who are not true masters at deciphering what they say."

Anárion was on high alert. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that these… things… show you the past, the present elsewhere and the future. They allow you to communicate if you have the skill, with other holders of the same kind. They will always show the truth- what they show will always come to pass, if it has not already. But whoever observes what this _object_ has to say will come to a conclusion- nothing that can be helped, of course, any being will immediately come into some conclusion instantaneously upon seeing something or hearing it- but in this, _it_ tries to deceive you. Be wary, my prince. Keep inside your mind that this is a mere window to a much larger view. And upon seeing that window, a holder that is no true master of the stone, will as such, come into a conclusion, a conclusion that might be far from the truth, or not near enough at least."

Anárion absorbed all this in silence. "So it seeks to deceive us, and yet, not lie to us?"

"Yes," Estela wasted no words. "Look within if you may, but do not expect me to taint my mind, nor allow my reasoning and my soul to be tampered and tarnished with such an object." She left the room.

"My prince, she is right." Maltariel said softly. "Fëanor crafted this stone, with the idea of deceiving all those who are not masters and have neither developed the sufficient ability nor had the training, to master the stones. It was a measure of safety. It is dangerous, also because we do not know where the other stones are- and who might try to spy on us using that."

Anárion's face grew white. "So, be careful," was all Maltariel said, before leaving to follow her queen.

"We can ride to Mordor soon enough," Anárion said. Estela looked at the window. The mountains were so solid and thick, not the tiniest beam of light shone through the most minute of cracks. It was hard to believe that they were mountains, but no fence could be as thick, towering and solid, not even the Black Gates of Mordor. Ephel Dúath was the most frightening and formidable of things, it seemed, of true and utter evil. But the true power of darkness- the evil, lay behind it, within Mordor.

"It's almost time for us to leave." Estela said, as if from a distance. "Are you ready?"

Anárion hesitated, then said quietly. "For anything? Yes, my lady."

* * *

Mordor.

Estela had never set eyes upon the place, even in her travels. The land was a remnant of Morgoth's wars. It was once a fertile-enough place, but thanks to Morgoth's wars and ministrations, it became blasted and barren, so poisonous, it was void of life, save for the orcs, trolls and other foul creatures that dwelt there. Only a portion of the land was fertile- the non-toxic ash from Mount Doom had landed in Núrn. That part held the inland Sea of Núrnen. It was fertile due to the ash blown and deposited there, and was rich with nutrients in the soil to allow for farming. There must be humans living there- if they were not enslaved to farm and work the lands for Sauron to feed his armies.

Perhaps they would give them their freedom and their home. But Estela could not fathom as to why Sauron needed to farm for food for the orcs. Orcs loathed the taste of human food, although they were partial to the taste of their enemies' flesh. Perhaps they were for the Dark Númenóreans and any other willing human under his command. Feeding the slaves however, was undoubtedly _not_ Sauron's top priority.

Estela had freed many slaves in her life. She wondered if marriage, motherhood and queenship had caused her to become idle. She still fought but not on the same scale as she used to- and she did not immerse and surround herself in danger the way she used to do. But if it was for her husband and her children, it certainly was worth it.

* * *

_Vanimelda, Vanimelda, Vanimelda…_

_The voices whispered inside her head, swirling softly but persistently around her, like flies. Inside the nursery, the stars were out, but the very small girl was not in an undisturbed sleep. Technically, it was not restless, but it wasn't as easy as it should be. She was dreaming yet again._

_Two Trees. One gold and the other silver. The sun and moon rising. A harp, carried by a fair-haired elf. Several faces. A human's noble, but harsh in his good looks, and stern, an elf's noble and wise, yet filled with courage and fairness. And another elf's. They whisper to her._

_And again, her name: "Vanimelda."_

She woke up.

* * *

Estela rode on. Yes, her mind was on her daughter, but there were many other things besides.

"Your sons go with you?" She asked Anárion. He nodded. "The older ones. They are young, but not unprepared, and have been well-trained."

Estela accepted this mutely.

She could say nothing as they mounted their horses, while watching the large exodus of women, elderly and children exiting the city in their masses. The women looked beaten-down, worn and the elderly was resigned and ashamed of their own state, and inability to help, but they were all determined. Some children were frightened- no, clearly terrified- others stared uncomprehendingly from their parents' arms. Many clutched a doll, a soft blanket, a stuffed animal.

They were all leaving in broad daylight, knowing orcs hated the darkness. Estela waited silently. She knew Sauron would never attack now, even if the orcs and trolls could move within daylight. He knew she was a strategist. So he would wait.

She exhaled. She knew exactly what he was waiting for.

Soon enough, the Last Alliance came. Isildur and Elendil looking shocked at what they were witnessing. Apparently Anárion went and filled them in on what happened before they could get there.

Ereinion gave a raised eyebrow. So she was right. How did she know?

"You knew?" Ereinion asked her. He did not have to say what she was supposed to know.

"No," Estela said. "But we had yet to reach Gondor's lands and Mordor. So I suppose Sauron would be seeking to weaken us in any possible way- and who's cut off from us and with little help? Anárion and the people of Osgiliath of Minas Arnor. Without his knights and him, we would be weakened, have no doubt, and Elendil and Isildur too, not just the people of Gondor and Arnor. They would have lost a son and a brother."

Ereinion sighed in frustration. "Now why didn't we think of that, before?" He ground his teeth in frustration.

Estela touched his arm soothingly. "But you already _did_ think of that, certainly you have- I heard you." She added with a touch of amusement. "You just could not spare the warriors, since Sauron's eye will be fixed on the journey of our large host onto Mordor."

Ereinion rolled his eyes. "True enough. But I wish I could have done something, and furthermore, made a point to get here quicker."

"You would have," Estela pointed out. "And you _did_ get here. But as I said, you have the disadvantage- and the advantage- of being leader of such a large host. I do not."

Ereinion sighed. "And I thought Sauron would be wise to our strategies, now."

"Oh, have no doubt. He's more cunning than his master, some say. But he was expecting me to be with you, like I was during the Battle of Belfalas, and the Battle of Perlargir. Ever since I met you, I've been glued to your side. Sauron knows this. He studied me. He knows things about me, that I barely take note of." She looked down at the ground. "That was how he managed to get Telpe, Silmiel, Eleniel, the whole of Eregion and the Rings."

Ereinion looked to her, feeling the pain she felt, himself. "You cannot blame yourself for that," he said quietly. "You know, it is _not _your fault! We have discussed this, Estela," he sounded almost pleading.

Estela looked up at him with clear, but very deep, emerald eyes. "Oh, I know. And I do not wish to dwell on the past- on what I cannot change. But Sauron knows me, Ereinion. And that was how he managed to win. He knew me, and he adapted to me. And I should have known better. We all must know better. But Sauron learns too."

Ereinion was silent. "And yet, we know him as well. We know what he is like, and what he aims for."

"And yet," Estela said. "I have a feeling we need to do and learn more."

After a while they set off. Estela's mind wandered when she saw the stars. First to her children, the time she spent teaching them and telling them stories under the night sky, spangled with stars, telling them stories of their people gone by.

And then to the stories and times she had had, with her own family. How many centuries ago was it? She didn't want to think about it.

And there was the Battle-Under-Stars.

She was not there to see it. She only knew that despite the great success- apart from the unrealistic goal of destroying Angband and slaying Morgoth- and the great courage and success of her father and uncles- that fact, could not be disputed by anyone, even their enemies- her grandfather had died, thrice cursing Morgoth, in sight of Angband- after attacking a Balrog.

She remembered her father and uncles, they said, had pushed forwards, slaughtering any foul creature they found. They could not save their father, though. He had died before the moon rose for the first time.

Realistic. She could have scoffed. Just how realistic was their goal in defeating Sauron- more cunning than Morgoth, though less powerful? In destroying his armies and the Tower of Barad-dûr? Of getting the Ring of Power off his finger?

In answer, she could have laughed bitterly were she alone. They had little to no chance, at all.

* * *

"_Do you remember the stories of the Awakening in Cuiviénen?" Her father asked. She nodded eagerly._

"_I want you to tell me another story," she demanded, her lips pouting exquisitely. _

_Her father laughed. "Like what?"_

"_You and Amil," she insisted, standing up on her short legs on his lap, and clinging to his shoulders so she didn't fall. "How did you meet?"_

_Her father laughed. "What brought this on?" She shrugged. "I heard Uncle Findaráto talking about it, with Aunt Artanis." _

_He rolled his eyes. "Of course you did. They would know, wouldn't they?" She grinned and he grinned back._

"_Did you love her, then?" She asked eagerly._

"_Yes," Maitimo admitted. "Though she was not sure."_

_Estela cocked her head. "Why was she not sure?"_

"_So many questions," her father teased, grabbing hold of her, and covering her face with kisses whilst tickling her, making her giggle._

"_She was hesitant. But I loved her, and love won out." He answered, finally ceasing to tickle her. "She just had to discover the depth of any feelings. It took a while, as you can imagine."_

_Estela snuggled close to her. It was a universe where she could never imagine how something could ever go wrong. Oh, how wrong she was._

* * *

**_The Battle-Under-Stars took place in sight of Angband, when they had just arrived in Middle-Earth. _**_**Fëanor**__** had was slain in sight of Angband when he attacked a Balrog- Gothmog the Lord of Balrogs. He died cursing Morgoth. The battle took place before the moon rose in the sky for the first time, which was when Fingolfin arrived too late. **_

_**Estela's unique armour was purely a figment of my own imagination, I took details of Gil-Galad and the Noldorin colours and fabrics worn with armour, something like the leather, or metal corsets worn by Sonja and Selene in the **_**Underworld**_** Series, along with the Japanese **_**horo**_** cape, made for snaring arrows when retreating- it really worked. I should warn you, though, we are close to the finish- I won't say how many chapters, but that we are close. **_


	47. Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Seven

"This is absurd," Estela heard the Princess of the Greenwood hiss at her husband. She frowned. Whatever it was, she did not want to know. She trusted Oropher to keep his word and hold to their alliance. She moved away from Thranduil and his wife, determined _not_ to know what they were going on about.

She found Ereinion in his tent. He was alone- everyone else had left, yet he was still pouring over his maps. "It's a long way to Mordor, still." He said, giving her a tired smile.

"Not long enough," she said. "It's the last place anyone wants to be, and it's our destination." He laughed.

"Ereinion," she said gently. "What was that about?" He frowned. "What _are_ you talking about?"

"The Wood-elves," she said.

Ereinion frowned. "Estela-"

"Don't try to spare me."

He gave her a tired look. "They are not happy, with the current events. They feel that you, I and our host are taking control and doing most of the fighting."

Estela frowned. But Ereinion spoke before she even began. "I have spoken to them but somehow I suspect discontent." Ereinion continued. "This was is taking a toll on everyone, but the Wood-elves want to share some of the action. Do you expect me to give them the idea that they are meant to be reserve troops alone? Oropher and Amdír would be highly insulted."

Estela sighed. So many kings. So many leaders. So many great warriors. No wonder a lot of egos were flying around. _This is disastrous,_ she thought.

Sauron had only one leader on his side- himself. The rest were puppets and slaves.

_He has a significant advantage over us,_ she thought glumly. "Are they upset with me?" Estela asked dryly. "Do they blame me as well?"

"I think they are mostly upset with me and my commanders, save you," Ereinion replied amused. "You can charm your way out of any situation." Estela laughed, but she wondered at what price.

* * *

Mordor. Too close to put the heart at ease, and yet so far away- too much so to accomplish their goal.

What in Arda were they going to do once Sauron confronted them? Stand there and die?

Estela expelled a breath. Even she and Ereinion had no plans for this. Whatever they were going to do, they had better think of something fast.

Of course, she already thought of a solution. But as to how to get that close to Sauron to cut the Ring off…

Estela closed her eyes.

What happened when Nolofinwë fought Morgoth?

He nearly won- before Morgoth killed him with the Grond. Morgoth might have won, but they had come eerily close- too close for Morgoth not to feel secure- they knew it was possible. They knew he could be beaten.

But Sauron was a different person. Less strong in might, but more cunning and more twisted and vile in his schemes. He would have had more tricks up his sleeve.

This was not going to be easy.

Sauron would be expecting great deeds from the elven kings, that she had no doubt. Ereinion and she would be considered the greatest threats. He would undoubtedly try to annihilate the Woodland kings before anything. The dwarves and humans, however, may be overlooked, with the exception of Durin- whom Sauron hated because of dwarves being created by his former master Aulë- and Elendil and his line, because they were of the greatest threat. Sauron had been captured and outwitted by them, then he had been responsible for the downfall of Númenor, and yet still they rose up and built great, dazzling civilisations and stood in might, defiant against his power and will. He loathed them, just as he loathed the elves- and the House of Elendil along with the House of Finwë the most.

But he _could_ underestimate them.

* * *

"Shall we?" Estela asked brightly.

Isildur nodded, and raised his own weapon, charging before his blow was blocked and deflected by Estela. She spun to the side, dancing out of the way, and pushing him back. Slightly disorientated, he had barely managed to block her strike, before recovering himself.

It went on and on. Finally, to no one's- including Isildur's- surprise, Estela won. She then asked for another blade while the Prince refreshed himself with a drink.

The blade she had asked for was a human one. Not of Númenórean make- but ordinary steel. It was not something she would have ever touched with a pole. So Isildur raised his eyebrows, after his break had finished.

"A bit unorthodox, Queen Estela." She smiled.

"Still I think I would use it, just this once," she said. "Now," she said, knowing humans needed more rest than they did. "Again?" Isildur nodded and got to his feet.

When the two crossed blades, Estela had the most graceful, inventive and tricky technique. As always it was beautiful to watch. But this time, Isildur had the advantage of the better blade. For metals forged out of Númenórean and Elven metals are far superior to ones of ordinary steel, and others. They did not need cleaning or honing and they were easier to wield.

So it came as no surprise that Estela's blade broke- snapping under the strength of Isildur's one. But to everyone's shock, she placed the broken sword against his throat- the jagged edge just scratching his throat, but not breaking it, or drawing blood.

"A broken sword is still sharp," she reminded the prince of Gondor. "A sword is a sword, even if it is broken." She smiled as he nodded, his eyes wide in surprise.

"You've surpassed me yet again," he said dryly. Estela smiled. "I've been fighting since the First Age," she reminded him.

She handed the sword to the smith for repairing. While they might not be as high in quality as Númenórean and Elven swords, every weapon was needed.

Estela just hoped he got the point.

Somehow, she had a strange feeling he needed to.

* * *

But although she sensed something about to happen, she nonetheless ignored another. Soon after, Estela was practising exercises by herself when she heard something.  
Later, much later, she would learn a harsh lesson. Only much later would she learn that leaving it be, would be a terrible mistake.

There was angry, or at least frustrated muttering. She paused and frowned, before realising it was Oropher.

Holding her sword in mid-air, Estela turned. She then bit her lip, deciding that if she interfered, she could very well make it worse. She was supposed to remain unbiased towards the Noldor, Sindar or anyone else. As Gil-Galad's consort, she was High Queen- of all elves, she reminded herself, not just the Noldor. If she tried to persuade Oropher- or even offer him counsel- then it was likely she would be seen as trying to manipulate or take advantage of the King of the Wood-elves. Not good. Trying to bring him and the rest of the Wood-elves further under the Noldor's control. And that would tense things within the Alliance. It was her job to maintain it- not worsen it. Therefore, Estela, the Queen, pressed her lips together, and continued with her exercises.

* * *

"This is unbelievable!" She again heard the Greenwood princess hiss at her husband.

What were they talking about? _Ugh._ Best that she did not know.

She turned back to inspecting the weapons' store.

She held a sword and watched it catch and reflect the light, twirling the hilt within her hand. It was like liquid- not the slightest hint of a blemish, yet not a ripple- nothing the tiniest bit murky or cloudy, nothing to disturb the gleaming sheen and quality, save for the intricate engravings chiselled onto the side.

"Perfect." She said, nodding. The smith beamed. She placed the sword down and began to inspect another.

Nearby, the Crown Prince and the Crown Princess of the Greenwood paused. Thranduil muttered to his wife.

"I know that. But do you think he would listen? He's not foolish, but I'm afraid he would do something reckless sooner or later. I have a really bad feeling about this."

His wife frowned. "It doesn't sound like too much."

Thranduil shook his head. "That's what you think." He turned and saw Estela inspecting the weaponry. In truth she hadn't heard a single thing, but Thranduil dared not risk anything as important as an alliance- when he very well knew that they could not win this war by themselves, or separate. He was trying to convince his father after all. The problem was with Oropher, small things get bigger and things piled up, until eventually- to the Greenwood King at least- small things suddenly seemed monumental, whilst only Thranduil remembered that they were miniscule but yesterday.

What some people mean, others perceive differently and react to it that way.

And Amdír was proud and wilful- even impulsive. He was also close to Oropher. This could- or likely, would- present problems.

Countless virtues they may possess, but misunderstanding is a terrible thing. Particularly if they feel belittled.

"I have to go," he told his wife. "I have to meet with the engineers, discuss new plans for the design." Before his father decided that the Wood-elves were excluded and made useless even there. He left.

The Greenwood Princess' shoulders slumped. She felt an awful sinking feeling, but then she looked up and her eyes widened. There. Estela had approved of most of the sword designs, and she went over to meet her.

"My lady," she said. "You must be the famous shieldmaiden, Estela." Estela turned and saw a very beautiful Wood-elf. She seemed like a porcelain doll, at first glance and had creamy skin, finely-chiselled features, and a delicately-upturned, tiny nose and lush, rosy mouth, with deep, luminous eyes. She appeared delicate and yet Estela saw a tremendous strength and powerful character that radiated charisma. True to form, this maiden had a sword sheathed at her hip, and hunting knives, as well as a graceful bow and quiver of arrows. She was an amazing archer.

"Another shieldmaiden, and if I guess correctly, just as famous as I am." Estela remarked. She smiled at her. "Even among our race, female fighters are rare. And I believe that you are as renowned as I am, to fight beside your king and husband in such a noble crowd. The Wood-elves do not take showy fighters who pose and brag of their strength more than they fight. I do not have to know your name, to know of your accomplishments. I hear your husband has very high standards." Her eyes danced.

The princess laughed. "Indeed, he does. I spent years fighting with him in the north against beasts of terrible dread and orcs, and still, he is not satisfied if someone does anything perfectly- he insists on them exceeding it."

"Well, he may be right." Estela remarked. "There's no such thing as perfection- not for us. He is right when he says anyone can do better."

The princess rolled her eyes. "Don't let him hear you say that," she remarked. "No one would ever hear the end of it- it would be his reason to make the soldiers do extra drills and everything else harder- he'll have us hunting dragons before long."

Estela laughed. The ice broke. The princess did not think the Noldorin Queen as arrogant as her father-in-law said them to be. Over an Age of living under the shadow of her family's arrogance and the consequences of their actions, must have hammered into her a lesson from early on. She smiled as well, and Estela thought her smile was so kind- warm and genuine- not mere glass sparkling but without real substance.

Not all relations can be as easy.

* * *

"Do you think we have a chance, Glorfindel?" Estela asked him quietly. They were standing at the entrance of the briefing tent, the flap opened up, as they watched the rain fall.

Glorfindel hesitated. "I think we have a better chance than we did when we fought Morgoth." He said. "We are not hiding away- we are choosing to confront the problem head on, rather than allowing things to become worse by waiting."

"But?" Estela prompted.

"Sauron is very cunning," Glorfindel said quietly. "And the fact is, he has managed to succeed Morgoth as Dark Lord- he has actual power- political and supernatural. He has Dark Powers at his disposal. No one else did that. Not Dragluir, not Thuringwethil, not Ungoliant not even Gothmog Lord of Balrogs. Only _him_. Sauron."

Estela said nothing. She simply watched the rain fall.

"And the Ring gives him incredible powers. Considering the fact that Sauron will keep it on his finger at all times, I do not doubt this will be very difficult."

"Unless we can remove the Ring from him," Estela said quietly. "And if we can't outfight him, we outsmart him. Sauron is arrogant. He thinks the bigger the armies, the more power he has. The more power he has, he believes the likelier he is to win. He has grown arrogant and we must nurse that part of him- we fight to win, Glorfindel. We fight for good and for freedom, but we fight to win- Sauron won't play honourable with us- we cannot afford to do the same to him, can we?"

Glorfindel shook his head. "No." There was a time when he had been foolish, he thought to himself. Time when he spared a man of Darkness, or rather hesitated. He learnt things the hard way.

They may be fighting for goodness, but the other side will use whatever they could to get the upper hand. No time for bravado, or anything of the sort. They had to use whatever they could to survive.

And allow others to live.

* * *

Estela browsed through a book. Flipping through the pages, she reminisced sadly, all the times she had had.

After the end of the War of Wrath, and the death of her parents, Estela had wandered around the world. She met, lived amongst, learned about them and recorded every aspect that she could about their culture, language, traditions, architecture, even style of dress and food, as well as life cycle of every race she could find. She started with the Eldar- Vanyar elves, the Noldor, and the Teleri- but also put in the Umanyar with them- the Sindar, and the Nandor, including the Silvan elves. Then came the Avari.

Estela remembered the friends and close ties she built with certain Avari- including Glinien- the Sindarin name of a maiden whom she had been incredibly close with. A century later, she learned that Glinien had died from an Ungol's bite.

Estela sighed. Grief and sadness welled in her, but she had to keep it down. She already missed and longed for her daughter- and her son- more than anything, it threatened to tear her to shreds inside. She flipped through the pages.

The Dwarves came next. The Men and the Ents. Even orcs and trolls had their section, along with other creatures found during the War of Wrath and her travels all over Middle-Earth. She was very thorough.

And she was finished. She hoped for those that read it to put aside all disputes and dislikes of races that were good, in general. She hoped her daughter would somehow know, this was her legacy- not just war, weaving and even beauty- but unity and understanding- firm friendship and alliances unbroken.

_This will be the war of my life, whether I live or die, I feel as if I should prepare to pass my legacy on. I may not want her to fight wars, but I do want that part of my legacy to continue. _

Estela closed the book.

_It's over, _she thought.

* * *

They stood at attention. Wrapped in cloaks against the biting wind, Thranduil- tall and imposing, thought graceful- with his wife beside him, watching as the kings walked out from a distance away, where they consulted each other once again.

Oropher was still upset- but his anger had abated slightly. Amdír looked sulky. The beauty of the Greenwood Princess was not lost on Thranduil who admired his own wife. Her creamy skin remained unaffected by the cold, but her hair blew in strands, in the wind. He noted that she stood proud, despite being petite for an elf, and seemed to glow with an inner strength. Estela stood tall and proud, regal and awe-inspiring, with a power few could match. She did not inspire this by merely holding her head high, and straightening her back, it radiated from within. These shieldmaidens, he thought to himself. If the whole world knew their secret…

The kings returned. Estela nodded to her husband, and he whispered a few words to her.

They were moving out.

And as Estela mounted her horse, she was aware that hundreds of thousands of elves, men and dwarves followed them, riding with them on horseback. The greatest alliance and host that had ever been formed in Arda out of free will.

And she felt awe and pride that she was able to take part in this- whether or not she was a leader. She felt awe and pride, along with overwhelming love for her husband.

And on they rode, onto history. And only the All-Father knew how their parts would play out when they were written in the stars and Vairë's tapestries.

And on they went. East. To Mordor. The land of Shadow loomed ahead, a dark cloud with an evil light, the flames of Mount Doom, touching the soot-coloured cloud that hovered above the Ephel Dúath that bordered it. But Estela knew, that Sauron would not be able to keep them out.

Yet, what if they were trapped in?

She prayed to the All-Father and the Valar not to allow this to happen- for the sake of Middle-Earth and the good soldiers here, she prayed. If not for me.

Now, fate would await them. In Mordor.

* * *

_**I am truly, truly sorry for the long wait! But there were many other things to do. I really hope I've satisfied people's fill for lack of drama. I got a lot of reviews saying that drama is good, just not in every chapter! But my chapters are getting significantly smaller, now. This is a sign that the end of the story is approaching- it might not be the next chapter, but it's coming soon! For those bored with this, I'm sorry. For those that actually thought she was a flawless Mary Sue- I think we all know she definitely made a mistake in ignoring this and not attempting to make relations between the Wood-Elves and the Noldor better. The consequences will come soon enough. **_

_**Next chapter will be battles. They're going to Mordor, and they will reach the Black Gates next chapter. Expect things to get epic then. **_

_**Thanks to **_**T****he Enchanted Stream- _Much appreciated._**

**_Harlie Ishmael- Thanks a lot! I'm glad you appreciate this. _**

**_To everyone else, including kksambo- I hope I've satisfied your fill for lack of drama- and your fill for romance. _**


	48. Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Eight

_What do I know of fear?_ Estela wrote. _Nothing. I know nothing of fear, except from what has passed. And time and time again, my fears have proven right. I have lost everyone I loved to torment and death. Or disappearance. It happened so often that in time, I learnt to stand and look Morgoth in the eye and feel nothing. No fear, no rage, no hate. I have only my husband and children to fear for. If Sauron were to strike me, I would never fear him. I feel nothing, now. _

_These chronicles will record my time in Arda, from my birth in Valinor, to my last in Middle-Earth. And they shall be my last. What history will know of me shall be spoken and written by others. But the true story. Shall be mine to remember and recall._

Estela paused, as she put the quill down. What more could she write but the truth? Who to? Her daughter? Yes, that was the reason.

What bigger gift than love and protection- and _hope_? What more can a mother offer her child apart from the hope for a better life than the one she had?

Estela dipped her quill in the ink-pot and started to write again.

_This is my story. No matter what you read, and what you believe, my life through my eyes will be recorded in here…._

The host of tens of thousands rode closer to Mordor every day. And every day Estela felt fear and worry sickening her for her child. What was she feeling right now? What was she doing? What was going to happen to her, especially if they failed?

* * *

There. At last they stood. Near the high cliffs before the Black Gates of Mordor.

The scouts' eyes sharpened. They needed to report back. As fast as they could.

"Well?" Gil-Galad asked.

"They are there." One of them said. "Armed hosts, huddled high on top of the Black Gate. And countless more behind, we guessed, judging from the noise.

Ereinion frowned, but nodded. He turned to his wife. "This is going to be more difficult than we assumed."

Estela's eyes sharpened. "Do you want me to lead a covert-attack?"

Nearby, Oropher stiffened. His eyebrows pressed together into a slanting slope and his eyes flashed.

But Ereinion ignored it. Estela never saw it.

"No," he said a little too quickly. Estela frowned. "I mean, not yet." He amended, knowing what she was thinking. We must wait. They are bound to have more than orcs on top and behind the Black Gate."

Estela frowned and nodded. She missed the flashing of Oropher's eyes and the scowl he directed to Amdír, King of Lothlórien, as if there was a powerful message there.

* * *

Oropher and Amdír whispered furiously together- in a furious pace and a furious manner.

Estela remained oblivious and unaware.

She would not be involved. She would not be a part of this.

"Do they seek to insult us?" Amdír asked, quivering in rage. "To leave us out of the fight when our very people are endangered as much as they? To keep us out of the fight- to extend the hand of an alliance as _equals_\- yet to command and to fight over us- without so much as a little of our help- who do they think we are? _We_ have lived in Middle-Earth longer than they- we were born here! And yet-" he was increasing in rage.

"I know, my friend, I know." Oropher said, his eyes glinting darkly. "I feel the exact same way, Amdír. And soon, it will be our turn to fight. It will be our turn to show to Sauron- and our friends- that this is our land- our home. And we will not leave without a fight. This is our fight more than any others. We will not lie idle, nor allow others to step over us in this fight, nor to allow Sauron to use his wretched armies to destroy everything we hold in our care and love. No, we will fight. To the last if we may."

Estela was reclining against a wall. She was with the Greenwood Princess.

Being a very beautiful and petite _elleth_\- small and porcelain-doll-like in the standards of the elves, though still tall- the princess did not seem the type to go into battle- but to lounge around in the finest gowns and jewels, to drink the finest chilled wine and to gossip and laugh with friends, discussing jewels and the latest fashion. Yet when she wore armour, and braided her hair, she was another matter entirely.

Estela could sense a kindred spirit, even though- as the princess pointed out- she was much taller than her. Estela was as tall as her husband and cousin, taller than most men and _ellyn_.

"My son is growing fast," the princess said wistfully. "He has already learnt to shoot a bow and ride."

Estela smiled. "I must seem like the type to coddle my daughter then," she said. "Considering that she has never held a weapon before."

The princess smiled. "It is our custom to have children trained to fight- especially in such difficult times."

"Yes," Estela's eyes darkened. "I pray that they at least have happy childhoods."

The princess' eyes clouded in concern. She knew. Estela had been very young, according to her husband, when she left Valinor. Apparently young enough to be carried, and forced to be stripped and exiled from her home and any loved ones, and to live out in a land that must seem dark and terrible compared to the bliss and ease of Valinor. Especially when the remaining loved ones are branded kinslayers and were pitted against _Morgoth_\- of all people. If she had been happy in Valinor, Morgoth and all dark powers had ruined that.

Somehow, the princess cringed, reminded of what Sauron did to capture and torture her father. And what happened to her mother… _No child should have to go through that. _She thought to herself.

"The goal of every good parent is to make their child happier than they in their time." She finally said. And the princess could not agree more.

* * *

Angrily, the two Woodland kings kept conferring.

Ereinion knew they were out of time and was busy planning the final assault before Sauron hit _them _when they were unprepared.

The Greenwood princess worried for her son back home, her troops, her husband and father-by-marriage.

Estela had a horrible feeling something terrible was approaching, but of course it was. They were going into _Mordor_, of course, and to battling _Sauron_. She thought and missed her children with her whole heart, mind and_ fëa_.

Either way, all was desperate to get what needed to be done, done and fast.

The final assault came soon.

"We shall attack in a few weeks, if the others agree with me."

The others nodded. But the two Woodland kings were noticeably absent from the party in the Briefing Tent.

Ereinion nodded, concealing his frown and unease at their absence.

"Very well," he said grimly. "And so it is."

"But we must attack with caution," Ereinion said. "We would be foolish simply to crash like waves upon those gates. Sauron would have stronger, darker forces at work than mere orcs. And even if he did not, the gates themselves are as thick as the Ephel Dúath. No, we shall not charge the gates to get into Mordor. We have another plan."

Estela stood quietly near him. She agreed. And there was much to be done.

"And so it begins," Ereinion said grimly. Estela was thinking the exact same thing. "Pray that it ends, my friends. Soon."

* * *

Oropher hissed at Amdír. "What plan? Why does he not notice our absence? Why does Gil-Galad even wait?" He gave a thunderous glare. "So it is as we feared. We are not to be involved in this at all."

Amdír's eyes flashed darkly and his lips were in a thin line.

"And so we know what we must do," Oropher continued. Amdír jerked his head. "Careful, brother. We do not know what Gil-Galad has to say to all this," he said in scorn. This was the first and only time anyone had ever spoken about Gil-Galad in scorn. His was a person, and an image to gaze up in awe and admiration towards, in amazement by astounded beings and beasts. A light against the oncoming darkness. But in truth Amdír was not actually thinking of Gil-Galad when he said those words. But of the whole, having more Noldor than Sindar and the Nandorin elves in the fighting force, side-lining them, and even seemingly ignoring them.

Misunderstandings can be even worse than conflicts. It disintegrates trust and creates conflict when there should be none. Especially in such a time and place.

And old friends are close to being enemies.

* * *

The next two days were relatively quiet. Estela did not see the Greenwood Princess, a pity since she rather liked the shieldmaiden.

But she did not see Oropher or Amdír either. She assumed they were still angry. She did not see Thranduil, or any of the Wood-elves as a matter of fact, but she was kept so busy for the preparations for the assault, that she really could not dwell much on it.

A mistake, of course.

And it was the third day that they received a terrible shock.

Estela opened her tent-flap. It was not yet dawn, but the sky was lighter than the black it had been. Amazing considering that they were outside of Mordor.

And it was eerily silent. Too silent.

Yes, there were sentries, standing guard-duty. Yes, it was still dark. But something was not right.

Estela never had the Gift of Sight, unlike Artanis and Elrond. But she always sensed if something was about to happen- and they usually ended up correct. It was uncanny.

She emerged and frowned. She had bathed and dressed for battle. No harm in being prepared, though they were well-hidden.

"My lady!" She heard someone shout. "My lady!"

It was Fëapoldon. She turned in shock to see him galloping this way.

"Fëapoldon," she acknowledge. Her sense of foreboding increased.

"What is it?"

"The Wood-elves," he gasped. "They've gone!"

Estela felt icy shock drench her like water, and creep up her spine. She was unable to speak for a few seconds. "They've _deserted_ the alliance?!" She could not imagine the Wood-elves, especially Oropher, breaking his word.

"No, my lady!" He gasped. "They're charging Mordor!"

And all hell broke loose.

* * *

Estela charged and woke up her warriors. There was no time to wake Ereinion or his warriors, or Elrond, and they would need them later for success. But right now they had to stop Amdír and Oropher from fool-hardy suicide, and mass-slaughter.

They hastily rushed to their feet, splashed water on themselves and saddled their horses. They needed to leave if they wanted to stop Oropher, Amdír and the rest of the Wood-elves. They were close to Mordor, but not that close.

They needed to ride fast.

* * *

Meanwhile Oropher and Amdír were fighting like hellcats, and yet it was to no avail. The Wood-elves are highly militarized. Trained under the meticulous perfectionist Thranduil and his wife, they were powerful in combat and wild as their woods.

But that was not enough to match the relentless, unstoppable evil of Mordor.

They were trapped.

What was more they were separated.

"Father!" Thranduil shouted at his father. "We must turn back!" He turned and swiped an opponent. Like Queen Estela he used two swords, one in each hand. He was so graceful, and his wife even more so. Like liquid, or quicksilver they danced a lethal dance of death, but for one orc they cut down- and they did so in their dozens at a few seconds- two or three more took their place.

They were running out of time. They were outnumbered, overwhelmed and ill-equipped for such a flood of evil powers.

Thranduil knew this had been a mistake. He had tried to warn his father from the start, but his father had been too angry. Now he was fighting for his wife's life, his people, and his own life, while trying to desperately save his father and meanwhile, his father's bond-brother was nowhere to be seen.

"We must retreat!" He screamed in Sindarin.

"We can't!" A captain screamed nearby. Thranduil didn't even bother identifying who it was, before slicing a beserker orc. "They have us in their sights!"

Yes, there were beserkers- and thus it was due to that that countless of their kin were being slaughtered, right before Thranduil's eyes.

In his anguish, Thranduil tore his eyes from his slaughtered kin to his wife. "We need to retreat. Now!"

She nodded. "Retreat!" He ordered.

"Now!"

Just then a horn blew in the distance- no it was a trumpet, of some kind. And in his shock and amazement, he saw the figures of elves on horseback. And in the lead, a graceful figure with copper-hair flying about.

_Noldor!_ They could have wept in relief. Even Thranduil who was not one to weep and break down. _Estela!_

And so they were saved. But at a terrible price.

But at a terrible price.

Estela could see they were far from a likely chance to survive.

She could see, however, that the Gates had been opened. But the more pressing concern was the Wood-elves.

Amdír of King of Lothlórien was nowhere to be seen. The last of his troops were being pushed back and massacred by the thousands. But she could not afford to look.

There was Oropher, Thranduil and his wife, in the heat of it all.

"Remember our plan!" She shouted. "Surround them, Maltariel, take the left flank!"

Maltariel galloped off. "Go to the right!" She ordered Fëapoldon. Take the others- the rest of you-" The orcs saw them. "Charge!" She screamed.

And so they crashed onto the orcs.

Fighting with such vigour, the orcs were taken by shock, especially as these were better equipped and more coordinated, seemingly more prepared at every possible manner, and were calm- masters at killing orcs and other foul creatures.

Thranduil saw them, he grabbed his wife's hand. "Make for the gap!" He shouted in Sindarin. "They've come to help us- they've opened a gap!"

He spotted his father, covered in soot and blood, and still raging with a fury that would match any beserker. "_Adar_! We must hurry! Retreat and regroup, while the queen gives us time!"

Oropher cut down more orc. Black blood stained his armour. He crashed and hacked down several more with such hatred- and anguish in his eyes.

_What have I done?! _ He thought to himself. _My people… my _Gwador_…. And maybe my son and his wife! _

_What have I done?!_

He hacked down several more orcs to pieces.

"_Adar!"_ Thranduil shouted. He could hear his daughter-by-marriage shout as well.

"_Adar_ we must go now!"

"Go!" He shouted desperately while fighting. "Go my son! Take our people and your wife, and get yourselves out of here! I shall hold them back- for now I am king, until I pass! And now I shall hold them back! For you!"

"_Adar!"_ Thranduil shouted desperately. His eyes widened in shock and horror, as he understood what his father meant.

"Go! Lead our people! Save them!" Oropher shouted, hurling head-first to the trolls.

"_No!"_ Thranduil ran, cutting down every orc, every troll, every foul creature, until he heard an unearthly shriek.

_No it cannot be._

Nazgûl.

He had heard fearfully of what happened to the Nine Men who accepted the Rings from Sauron, but until now he had absolutely no idea where they were, and what they did.

The Nazgûl rode great winged beasts charging down, grabbing and plucking elves in their claws, and dropping them, or overturning them.

And Thranduil was next. And Oropher.

"No!" Thranduil screamed again.

Oropher would have been grabbed by the Nazgûl had its paws not been confronted by the swing of a Noldorin blade.

_Estela._

She sliced off the creature's foreleg at lightning speed, while it screamed and its rider fell. Again she stabbed at its body, while black blood, thicker and fouler in stench than an orcs' leaked.

Quick again, she drew back to face the enraged Nazgûl. It hissed. Once a human, now not even dead or alive.

It wore a thick black cloak and where its face should have been under that hood, he saw only darkness.

"Go," Estela said calmly. "It is neither yours nor my time to die." He was unsure of whether she spoke to him or the Nazgûl since the full sentence was spoken while she gazed upon the foul undead.

It hissed. _"Elf-queen,"_ it rasped, in a horrible, un-lifelike, unearthly voice.

"Do not stand between the Nazgûl and his prey. Die now."

"As I said, it is neither your time, nor mine." Estela replied calmly. "You shall live to do Sauron's foul work for him, and I have yet to be called to Mandos. As for the Prince, he is not to be prey to you or anyone, and Oropher is not to be defiled by you."

It hissed. The creature struck but Estela quickly duelled with it. "Get your father," she said in Sindarin. "Go!"

Thranduil swung at an orc. He cut down and sliced every orc to make his way to his father. He spotted him.

"_Adar!"_ He shouted.

But Oropher was swinging his sword aimlessly, brutally, unlike that of an elf's. His eyes were filled with a wild, savage light, unlike what he normally had.

"Thranduil- go!" He shouted.

He was surrounded. "_Adar_\- no!"

And there were beserker orcs.

Oropher gave a cry and charged them.

They surrounded him in seconds.

"NO!" Thranduil screamed. He fought his way towards them, and it was as if he was wading through blood, mud and corpses all.

But he felt something strong grab his arm, and pull him back. Then everything went black.

* * *

Estela stood at the foot of the bed.

The Noldor were largely untouched- impossible, by the standards of men, but unless the evil was overwhelming- and they themselves were there to rescue as a reserve force- but the Wood-elves…

She had alternated between going back and forth. A message had been sent to the High King and Estela could not imagine what Ereinion would have to say about it all.

Oropher was in the worst shape she had ever seen in an elf- which was saying much because she had managed- despite her mother's attempts- to steal a glimpse at her father as he recovered after his imprisonment on the thangorodrim. And she was a healer.

Oropher was hacked and bloodied all over- his own blood mixed with orc blood, and that was not a good thing. Furthermore, apart from getting hacked, in numerous objects, by sharp and dull weapons, poisoned blades- which caused him to bleed pus as well as more blood and other fluids- his bones had been shattered- caving inwards.

It was clear he was not going to survive. Even his face was partly smashed in. Half of it was still the noble elven king, but the other half…

Estela could not bear it any longer. She had pulled out the princess before she could run after her husband in the mindless heat of his anguish. But she had to knock them both unconscious, otherwise she could not save either of them both, nor get Oropher to safety.

As for the Nazgûl…

_Coward,_ Estela's eyes flashed. The Nazgûl fled. It suddenly screeched and fled. As if Sauron had ordered it back.

But the Gates…

They were open. And now the Noldor and the remaining Sindar held them. After what they had seen, they were not about to disobey her orders.

Especially as their king lay dying and his son and daughter-by-marriage recovered.

Estela turned to leave- to find Thranduil. At last the gates were open- she took the advantage when the armies came through. That was why the Nazgûl came- to deal with this panic- except it saw Oropher and Thranduil before it saw her.

"My lady," a shattered croak came from behind her.

Estela turned to see Oropher. His eyes were open.

"My king," she said softly, coming back to him and sitting on the side of his bed. She had bathed and dressed his wounds the best she could, but the poison acted fast- unlike other orc poisons which were slow.

It was already too late.

"Rest," she said. But he croaked out, "You were right- your husband was right." He wept. "He was the better elf- the better king- I- I was supposed to lead them- to _save_ them. They trusted me, and I- I _killed_ them."

Estela could say nothing. A shieldmaiden could not deny the reckless course of action that was taken. Even though she wanted to comfort Oropher, badly, there was nothing she could say about this. A commander had to take responsibility for his actions. They at least managed to get the Gates open, but that was it.

Oropher gasped and croaked out, "Thranduil? My daughter-"

"Are safe." Estela reassured him. He sagged and two tears leaked in relief. "Good. Good. My son… Did not die because of me. And my daughter too. His wife. Legolas does not need to lose both his parents because of a mad fool."

Estela sighed. "Damaging your own health will do no one any good. Please, rest."

"I can't," the king rasped. "I am dying. My Queen… You are the better one than I. I never told you, did I?"

Estela's eyes narrowed. "Told me what?"

"Your father," Oropher rasped. He coughed, and Estela hastily pushed aside her shock and soothed him, handing him water and_ miruvor_.

"He saved me." Estela froze in shock.

"What?" She whispered. She could not believe this.

"He spared my life," Oropher rasped. He gave a smile that looked painful as it was dangerous.

"I was born and lived in Doriath," he affirmed. "But the debt I owe you was more than the saving you did for my people. Your father… I met him only for a moment, and I knew him not to be the monster others feared. In his eyes shone light and goodness- and _hope_. Hope I see in you. He should have killed me- the oath told him to take whoever had the Silmarils. And I had Princess Elwing under my care. We were in the woods, searching for her brothers. He was doing the same. And in his eyes I saw grief, pain and regret- more so than anything I have ever seen. And we were nearly killed, but he risked his own life to save us- even though the twins were killed- not by your uncle's servants, but by orcs." Estela froze.

Oropher gave a pained smile. "History leaves out many things. One of which your father was a great and noble elf. He too tried to save us all. And he should have killed us. It was only later I knew he knew we had the Silmaril. Yet, when he could afford to overlook it, he chose to save us, over the gem."

Estela was shocked into silence.

"Thank you for the life of my kin," he whispered. "And my son and his family. Estela, Hope of the Eldar."

And with that, the Woodland King died.

* * *

_**I'm soooorrrryyy! **_**[SOBS] _I don't think you really wanted Oropher to die but I'm sorry- HOW ELSE WOULD EVERYONE'S FAVOURITE- THRANDUIL BECOME KING?!_**

**_And I'm sorry for the late update. Really, really sorry. I have university work. _Gwador_ is Sindarin for bond-brother. _Miruvor_ is the restorative tonic that the Ainur and elves make. And now we know why Oropher wasn't so suspicious and antagonistic towards her in the first place. _**

**_I didn't give Thranduil's wife- Legolas' mother- a name- because there are too many fics and I don't want to spoil anyone's imagination! But I think she would be a shieldmaiden. And yes, and the Ringwraith was called back by Sauron who knew that Estela- being _female _and an_ elf_\- could have defeated it. And it was, as she sensed- not its time to die. She did make a mistake in overseeing this. She's not perfect, no matter what you say. She's going to regret this for the rest of her life. _**


	49. Chapter Forty-Nine

Chapter Forty-Nine

The Siege of Dagorlad would last for months.

After the first battle was done, Ereinion Gil-Galad came, in shock over what happened. Estela explained to him everything and then headed for Thranduil's sick-tent.

Estela sat on the stool next to his low bed. What was she going to tell him?

In her anguish, Estela remembered when the remaining Fëanorian followers, including Fëapoldon, had come to let her out, from her locked and bolted quarters where she had been placed under her father's orders just before he left, the last time she had seen him. He wanted to keep her safe, but nothing kept her safe from the reality that emerged.

She would not wish that pain on anyone- not even the vilest individuals. No one deserved that.

Thranduil stirred. Estela was at once by his side.

He gasped, jolting awake, eyes coming into focus. He made to leap out of the bed, but Estela, one of the few people faster than he, quickly halted him.

"My lady?" Thranduil gasped. "My wife- my father-"

As he said those words, Thranduil paled. _My father…._

Estela's face said it all- it was twisted in anguish. She released him and dropped her hands, and her head bowed towards the floor. "I am sorry, Prince Thranduil."

Thranduil gasped again and made to his feet before Estela restrained him. "Stop," she begged. She handed him a flask of _miruvor_.

"My father," Thranduil whispered pleadingly. "My _wife_?"

"Your wife is safe," Estela said. "We got her out just in time, although she took a blow to her head, she is recovering. She must rest now. I will take you to see her later. But as for your father…."

Horror, shock and a sudden stillness descended upon him. _No…_

Estela took a deep breath and out of her emerald eyes, tears descended. "He was surrounded by beserker orcs. I duelled with the Nazgûl, but it suddenly screeched and fled. I went to find you and your father, but the orcs were already doing their work. We shot them down and took your father before he could be killed. We dealt with the armies, but…" She swallowed, and more tears gathered in her eyes.

"Your father was so terribly injured, and the poison used by beserker orcs are much faster than the ones used by others. We managed to bathe and dress his wounds, purge the worst of the poisons by _athelas_, we even gave him _miruvor_, but…" She swallowed and the tears flowed freely. "I am sorry," she whispered. "I am so, so sorry." She took a deep breath. "I spoke to him," she whispered. "His last thoughts were about you, your wife and your son." She handed him something Oropher had given her as he was being carried away. _"Give this to Thranduil," _he had said.

It was a crown. Mithril wove itself like ivy into intricate shapes like berries, buds and thorns, the crown of the Woodland king, in battle. At the very centre, a stone like a star stood. She swallowed. "He wanted you to have this. He asked me…" her voice faltered.

"He said it was up to you now, to save them." She finished. "And his thoughts and prayers would be for you- and your family."

Thranduil stood there, stunned in an icy, shock. He grasped the crown, not really seeing it or absorbing the fact that it was there. And that he was no king of Greenwood the Great. _No…._

He jumped to his feet. "No! I must see him- I must!"

"Thranduil," Estela whispered. "He will not be as you remember him. Are you sure?"

"I don't care!" Thranduil shouted. "I must see him- _I must see him_\- _my father_!" He broke down suddenly.

Estela's tears flowed further, and she stroked his back as he was consumed by grief.

After a while, Estela took him to see his father- and his wife. Oropher's body had been repaired as best they could. Bathed, new armour in the woodland colours covering up the mashed and shattered bones, the swelling and the great gashes which were stitched up, and sadly stuffed to give some resemblance of normality, Estela noted that his hair had been lovingly combed and a crown- resembling the one he had passed on to Thranduil, rested upon his head. It was given by Ereinion.

His face had been repaired as well- as well as stuffing the cavity created to give the appearance it once had, they used makeup, something elves would not normally use, to give it some normal colour. His wounds had been stitched by Estela himself. She would not let Thranduil see him and remember him save for the way he once was. No offspring should see their father thus.

Estela sighed. It was not over- but for him.

Oropher's death and Amdír's was a heavy blow, but they all had to play their parts.

And now they had to play their part.

* * *

As aforementioned, the Siege of Dagorlad lasted for months. They had managed to get the orcs to open the gate- which was part of the original plan- now they had to keep it- not only open, but as part of their won-territory.

They crashed into waves and waves of orcs. Fighting, showering them with arrows, slicing them with swords, and all the while, Estela fought at the head, slicing through orcs like a riptide, or a storm.

She surged, riding through the ranks of dark powers like a warrior Ainu, but as lethal as a demon, on horseback, or on foot, with her twins swords in her hand, or her bow, shooting arrow, after arrow.

It was in the heat of one such battle, that Estela fought with such ferocity her name would be remembered- if not in the official records of the War of Wrath, certainly in others. She was unstoppable, demonic in her lethality, and liquid or air-like for when she moved, they say that it was more graceful than dancing.

It was a beautiful yet terrifying grace, with which she killed foul things under Sauron's might. And it was so efficient, so deadly and so destructive to Sauron that the price of her head soared sky-high.

* * *

_And so it begins- the beginning of the end. And so I shall write: the days of my life here, are filled with blood and gore- the red blood of my friends, and the black of the orcs, all of them everywhere. When I do not fight, I tend and heal the wounded. I bury the dead- or rather bathe and prepare them for cremation, for no one should have to rest in Sauron's shadow. The winds scatter their ashes to the west. For that I pray to Manwë Súlimo and am thankful to him. If do not do either, I fight, I bathe in the blood of my foes. For there are countless, and many more come. Wave after wave, they come. And yet I fight. I fight sweeping them like a riptide, cleansing Arda of their filth, every swing, every _twitch_ they tell me, causes countless damage to Sauron's forces, for it seems as if every time Ereinion's spear and my swords strike, tens of thousands are felled. Yet many more come. And many more strategies and plans are devised by us, in Gil-Galad's briefing tent. We crash upon them, sweeping them like waves ourselves, far away to oblivion. And more come, but our successes too, pile high. We have entered Mordor. But a price was made in the lives of Oropher, Amdír and many of their host from the Woodland realms. _

_And many more shall fall. _

Estela set the quill down. Here they were, breathing and living in Mordor, under Sauron's shadow.

_Yet the fight does not end here._

She set down the quill again.

And soon, she would lead a host herself, again.

The next battle would commence the very next day.

* * *

And there they were. Estela rode at the head of the cavalry and charged.

She came from another division, leading them over some high hills that stood out on the mostly flat plateau of Gorgoroth.

They had the high ground. And Estela mostly kept to that advantage. The orcs were in chaos, it was only Sauron's power that kept them from fleeing and instead staying and fighting.

And Sauron's rage increased. His hate for the House of Finwë burned ever hotter. Especially for Gil-Galad and Estela. The outstanding shieldmaiden (who rarely ever bore a shield, actually she fought with two swords after all), who grew ever more dangerous. He should have realised just how dangerous she was.

And still they fought.

* * *

Estela headed south. She did so in greatest secrecy- one slip- and they were dead, or worse. Sauron was tricky and cunning and the main host of the Alliance was further away- too far to be of any help.

Luckily, and because she had prayed so hard for the sake of others, Estela managed it. Stealth had always been her favoured weapon in the past before, anyway. This was no different.

She headed for the land of Núrn.

It was the most fertile land in Mordor. Moist enough to carry the inland sea of Núrnen. Where crops were farmed by humans living there. The non-toxic ash from Mount Doom had blown there, and left the soil rich with nutrients, but the humans that populated there lived in chains. They were enslaved by Sauron's forces, forced to labour for the Dark Lord.

Now was their chance.

Estela knew she had little time.

The humans there were so scrawny, she thought it was not only hateful, but also stupid for anyone to expect them to labour, while being half-starved. But then again, when were orcs so bright?

Estela saw the holding pens. And the cages. And everything the orcs and _Uruk-hai _had. _We do not even treat beasts like this, _she thought, barely containing her rage. But then again, she was always a master at turning her hot rage to icy calm.

She jerked her head to Maltariel. The fellow shieldmaiden who loyally followed her from Valinor. They needed to move- now.

"What shall we do? Maltariel hissed

"We shall tread carefully," the queen answered calmly. The cage was completely surrounded. The barracks were filled with not just orcs, but _Uruk-hai_\- larger, more brutal and slightly cleverer and less cowardly than orcs.

And their barracks might appear filthy and ramshackle, but it was in actual fact, strong and sturdy, hard to break and hard to penetrate- except that there are always brawls that end in death- both _Uruk-hai_ and orcs alike appear to believe that a celebration, such as a drunken, ribald bout of singing or feasting would be rendered dull without several dozen deaths. The brutish preyed on the weak, the recalcitrant and the most resentful ganged up and cleverly thought up a cunning plan to kill the brutish ones. It was so much so, that despite being designed as impregnable, the make-shift fortress would be easily penetrated- by the most intelligent, cunning and skilled. The consequences if captured were far too horrific to contemplate.

"Let's go." Estela said.

She huddled and jumped to an outcropping of rock. A stench so strong rose up and hit her nostrils, making her grimace in disgust. An elf's senses were stronger than any earthly being's and that was the unfortunate thing in this case. What she smelt was grog- an alcoholic beverage primarily enjoyed by humans and sometimes by dwarves, made from rum mixed with water, lemon juice and weak beer. But the variant consumed by _Uruk-hai_ were undoubtedly different and fouler. They were addicted to this.

Estela could not afford to waste time. She scanned the fortress with eyes sharper than even the ones that built this. Sauron was wise in some ways to keep the Dark Númenóreans and other humans on his side away from the orcs and _Uruk-hai_. But it also served to distance them further and the Dark Númenóreans were infinitely clever than these. Not that they wouldn't be deadly if they caught them.

Yes, there were weaknesses in their fortress. They were in an area which was the most fertile in all of Mordor. So for one thing there were trees to climb as well as bushes to conceal themselves. There were boulders and furthermore, there were orcs and _Uruk-hai_ who not only brawled but were terribly drunk. She could even hear some _singing_\- not the music she enjoyed. Estela kept her sword sheathed. She drew her long knives instead. She motioned for the others to do the same, which they did, silently. Estela dove into the bushes. She climbed one tree. The orcs never learned did they? Neither did the Dark Númenóreans according to her experience. Why build watch-towers so close to trees? For elves, watch-towers _were_ trees, which gave them an advantage as to detecting anyone far or sneaking up on them by climbing. But for the races that did not use them as such, it was a weakness and nothing less than folly.

She gently swung herself onto a branch in the top-most part of the tree, after scaling all the way from the bottom, away from the sight of the orcs.

"Mind you," one of them was saying- in Westron. "Ev'ry'un's makin' a fuss abou' this si'uation. I say, we've 'ad enough. Two pointy-eared kings 'r' dead. Wha's the difference?"

"The difference is that _she_'s out there, scum." Hissed another orc. "The red-'aired queen. The one they say the Dark Master says that ev'ry time she twi'ches 'er dainty finger, ev'ry'one ge's hurt. Including us. Le's remember- ev'ry time she comes in, ev'rything comes falling to bits. She is terrifyin', she is. The most terrifying un' me says. Next to the king."

"Bu'-" another one of them protested. "Uh though' the king was dead?"

The second orc growled. "Not tha' king, you idiot. The other un! The High and Migh'y un- the King of 'em all! The un that still out there- wieldin' 'is migh'y spear- the icy spear."

They inhaled sharply, hissing in terror. The icy spear. Aeglos.

"So, no un knows when she's goin' to strike next," the second orc continued. "Bu' she's there. Next thing you know- you're 'ere. Then she comes- and you're dead. She fights like the brigh' uns, she does. Like the uns that came and took the first dark master, the un that 'ad the big statue whom Master made the stupid islanders worship. And she's strong. Fas'er than lighting- more dangerous than anythin' you fellows 'ave ever seen! And you won't see 'er comin'. All you see, is a flash of light! Like lightning! _WHAM!_ She slams into ya, and slashes your throat!" The other orcs jumped. "And there's nuthin' you can do abou' it."

Maltariel smirked on the tree. She turned to Estela. They knew full well who the orcs were talking about.

Estela tilted her head. That was before she jumped out of her hiding spot and onto the watch-tower, slitting the orc's throat and letting the body fall with a thump below. Orcs and _Uruk-hai _never noticed. There were too many brawls and fights, too many dropping off high posts after drinking too much grog and thus, too many corpses lying around waiting for scavengers or someone hungry to take a bite, to be noticed.

She pressed her back to the watch-tower wall. There. Other orcs, she spotted, most of them were too drunk. The plan, she communicated through her companions' minds. They just had to be far away when it happened.

Maltariel would take the lead. And Fëapoldon.

And they did.

Estela waited. She knew the grog that the orcs consumed was undeniably strong. And there were barrels and boxes full of this grog. And they had brought more barrels and boxes with them- smaller ones, containing other substances which could be mixed with the grog to create explosives.

There was a statue of Sauron nearby. A good thing too. She hated the sight of it.

And the orcs and _Uruk-hai_ were responsible for whatever happened to the statue, which to them, would be considered 'sacrilege'. And so they would react appropriately.

She shifted. She just had to wait and ready herself for when the time comes. She tensed, waiting.

It started to rain.

Drops pattered onto the soil, the only soil that sustained life in Mordor, a land which was a remnant of Morgoth's destruction and further poisoned by Sauron.

After a while a loud bang resounded.

The orcs screeched and the _Uruk-hai_ bellowed, some spilling their grog everywhere, in alarm as they beheld the sight of the gigantic granite statue of Sauron toppling and crumbling.

They immediately ran towards it in alarm, drawing and brandishing their weapons. That was her cue. She jumped off the watch-tower, turning a somersault in the air, before landing neatly in front of them, and slitting the throat of the closest one.

They bellowed and screeched once more in alarm. Estela gave them no time to think. The bravest raised their weapons, but even she could see the fear in their eyes. They foolishly stumbled towards her, while she dodged right and left, skidding on her heels and leaning back, so that her twin swords sliced their shins in two, before spinning up, whirling in the air, and slicing the throats of several nearest to her, before catching a few weapons in deadlock, twisting and smashing their heads together. She then did a forwards leap into the air, flipping in mid-air, before landing in front of the crowd, cutting their heads as if they were butter and turning her attention to the _Uruk-hai_ who were determined- though frightened- to fight.

One sword parried, and blocked the other slashed through the air finding the throats and other vulnerable spots of the orcs and _Uruk-hai_. Left and right, their attempts were thwarted and she slaughtered them. She killed as many as she could, moving too fast for their eyes to see, twisting back and bending her limber body backwards, to stab in an exposed spot in an _Uruk's_ armour.

She then leapt into the air and pursued the fleeing ones. She knew Sauron would want vengeance. So she would keep this from him as much as she could. She cut down the fleeing orcs and the rest of the _Uruk-hai_. Eventually the others joined in, before, as she planned, the majority came in, at the same time she was able to slip away and assist them by killing most of the others.

Estela ran to the slaves. The others had freed them from their cages. They were a frightened bunch. Most were sallow, but there was a sign in the sweat and skin about them- due to the humidity of this particular area in Mordor, so moist yet hot, and near to the inland sea that stated these were natives of this particular area, conquered by Sauron.

She placed her fingers to her lips. They had to flee. Fast. After the enemies were killed.

* * *

After it was done, Estela stood in front of a large crowd.

It was larger than she expected.

The Sauron's forces had imprisoned and enslaved so many.

And there they were, standing right before her.

She stepped forwards. Fëapoldon frowned at them. "This is Estela Queen of the Noldor-"

She shook her head. "No, do not introduce me as that. I am not a queen that sits behind palace walls to be pampered and coddled. I am not a conqueror nor am I your mistress. I am someone merely seeking justice in this land, for the ones that have been lost. _All _the ones," She said firmly. "A Queen does not come before you today to claim you as her own. A simple being of Arda comes before you, willing to be sacrificed in order for others like yourself to be free." She said slowly, seemingly looking into each and every set of eyes- although how she managed that, was unknown. Reaching out to them, they saw what was in her emerald eyes, was pain. They saw it, and did not understand it. The regality and service of a queen, the deathless courage of a shieldmaiden and something else- the pain of a mother, a daughter, a granddaughter, a niece a bond-sister, a wife- and someone with a heart.

"You are free." She said loudly and clearly for all to hear. "Let not Sauron influence your souls and minds as he did your bodies. You are free from Sauron's grasp and Sauron's shadow, although it hovers us all, cannot touch that which defines us as free beings! You are free! Let no one question that! And I give you my word that as long as I live, the darkness shall never touch you! I ask- no I _beg_\- only one thing. Will you help others be the same? Will you help us find the way to the Dark Tower, to topple the Evil One, and set Arda free from his shadow?" She cried out, waiting. Just waiting.

Tears sprung to their eyes. Many of them wept, crying out, desperate to touch one bit of her, to know something of her, of their Lady Freedom, as they would call her, of the Warrior Queen and maiden who had willingly set herself at risk to set them free. They cried out her name, gave her titles in their many languages, including Westron, and tears in their eyes they wept and thanked her, blessing her eternally.

There were few scenes like this, as Estela surrounded by masses, who worshipped her with tears in their eyes, as her followers looked awe-struck and feeling tears in their own eyes, knowing that history was being made right before them.

She was their queen- their Lady Freedom, and their Warrior Queen all. She was everything to them. And never would they forget.

And neither would Sauron.

* * *

Sauron felt rage in his very soul.

That _she-elf_! He howled to the soot-covered skies of Mordor, in his rage, and with a single blast of power, incinerated the orcs who stood nearby. Then he howled some more.

The volcano exploded a wave of lava and thundered in reply, while the earth shook. Orcs and other foul creatures shook and screamed, hearing such things.

Sauron snarled. He had to get rid of her. Soon. He had no doubt now, this girl was different. She was not like her grandfather, or uncles, or even her father and cousin.

She could not be tempted. Perhaps she could but he could not take the risk at provoking her, tempting her, or manipulating her. Not like the others.

Did she- _damn them_\- Morgoth forbid, did she have the _Valar_ backing her?! Surely not! The Doom was a curse! A curse that extended to their whole house, if not the entire exilic Noldor.

Her son might be safely in his clutches, but his mother hovered nearby- ready to strike at any time. And who knew when and where she would appear and what she would do next! She was a riptide of destruction for him- her and Gil-Galad who was like a burning star, or lighting, ready to strike at anyone, anywhere.

Sauron clenched his fingers into a fist- the iron-gauntleted hand curling about to strike, his gold Ring gleaming on his finger and the fiery words etched onto the bright gold, as it would be into everyone's fates. As it would be.

Once Estela was dead.

* * *

_**We're getting very close to the end! Now I've heard the arguments whether or not to let Gil-Galad live, and I've made a decision- not giving anything away yet! But she did attract Sauron's attention. Now I've heard all the cases for and against letting Gil-Galad live, and I have to keep the story going. As I said, I am planning a sequel. Also, I think we know what happened to Amdir and his elves- they're the ones that ended in the Dead Marshes where Frodo, Gollum and Sam passed on the way to Mordor. **_

_**And the Valar's test will come very soon. If you've seen the movie Valkyrie, there was this line where Colonel Henning von Tresckow says to Stauffenberg, "You know, God promised Abraham that he would not destroy Sodom if he could find just ten righteous men. I believe that for Germany, it may come down to one." The plot revolves around the July 20th plot to kill Hitler by Germans. So let's keep that in mind, because that's what kind of test the Valar have in store for her.**_

_**To reviewers Halie and Phoebus Artemis- Thanks! **_


	50. Chapter Fifty

_**Warning- this chapter is the resolution! **_

* * *

Chapter Fifty

Ereinion Gil-Galad and everyone else just stood and stared as Estela brought masses of starved-looking humans back to the camp.

Everyone stared in shock. Estela got to work as a healer, handing _lembas_ and _miruvor_ to the starved and flogged humans.

"Are you certain about this?" A troubled, but regal High elven King asked the farmer. Elendil stood near him.

"Certain, sire," gasped the frail man. Estela knelt beside him wiping his brow with a cool, scented, water-cloth. She nudged the cup of _miruvor_ to his lips again.

He contemplated this in silence.

Elendil stood. "If this is the truth," he said slowly and calmly. "Then we must move quickly."

"I agree," Ereinion replied. "But can we take the risk?"

"In war," Estela responded. "We must. Wouldn't you agree, King Durin?"

Durin stroked his beard. "I agree. It is a risky move, but…. If we are to succeed, then we must. Sauron is growing desperate. And when people are desperate, they grow ever more dangerous. We have little time as it is. And it sounds a good plan as any."

Estela nodded. She turned back to her husband. Ereinion looked grim. "Very well, we shall march."

Estela nodded.

* * *

And they did. Horses were fed, watered and groomed, fitting for saddles, checked for wounds. Weapons were sharpened if need be, and more were forged. Food was checked and rechecked, packed tightly and carefully. Armour and clothing checked and stowed away.

This was a journey which they had to take. They knew that for many, it would be their last once they reached Barad-dûr at the feet of the _Ered Lithui_. They could not move easily through the long wide plains of Gorgoroth without most of the Alliance being killed off, by Sauron's forces having empty spaces and numerous opportunities to kill them- since they outnumbered them.

And this secret way, was deep underground.

Sauron's armies had great 'earth-eaters' dwelling in Mordor once. Giant worms that crushed rock between their teeth in order for orcs to move undetected underground. Sauron had no idea that the abandoned tunnels- void now of any orcs or foul creatures- would be used by his enemies.

But Estela was uneasy.

She suspected somehow, that she was being prepared by the Valar for the fight of her life. Of course she was, but there was something different about it.

Something that made her toss and turn instead of sleeping at night.

Something that was about to happen.

Something that made her _seriously_ uneasy and restless.

At one night Estela kicked off the covers of her sleeping pallet and stood. The stars were slowly returning to Mordor, she noted with astonishment. Sauron's reign had the skies of Mordor covered with the black smog of industry and poisonous ash clouds from Mount Doom that somehow did not harm, but was a hindrance, if anything. That, and Dark Power. But the stars were returning. What did this mean? Estela wondered.

The stars shone brighter, as if beckoning to her, as if giving a message.

There were other forces at work, besides that of evil, after all.

She bathed and dressed.

The stars seemed to whisper to her. Telling her to have courage as she cleansed and purified herself, the shieldmaidens always did. As she combed and braided the famous copper tresses, inherited from her father Nelyafinwë Maitimo- Maedhros the Tall, the Feared and Dreaded Warrior Prince of the Noldor. Hair that was streaked with the pure woven silver of the Telerin peoples of Alqualondë, the Haven of the Swans, noted for their song and love of the seas. And that of the distantly inherited pure, spun Vanyar gold, closest to the heart of Manwë and Varda as a whole.

Her heritage, the very future bloodline, depended on this.

Estela didn't know, and somehow she did.

All roads led to this.

* * *

_Taniquetil, on Valinor, amidst the stars._

"It comes," Manwë intoned solemnly. "The ultimate test of which all depends on her- the future of the House of Finwë, and the House of Fëanáro especially. The choice that will determine the future as well as the story of the entire house. And it all rests on Estela's hands."

Varda nodded, her eyes grave.

Tulkas closed his eyes. Even the warrior Vala felt grief at this. Nessa looked grieved and pained- a tear slid down her cheek. Vána looked saddened next to Oromë. Irmo and Námo, the brothers Fëanturi, looked grave and sorrowful- Irmo at least. Námo was unreadable, his eyes and face hooded in shadow.

Yavanna was troubled. "Is this not enough? Has she not done enough, my brothers and sisters?"

"Indeed. Is there no mercy?" Nienna cried.

Oromë turned to them. "You know that there is no choice." He said sadly, yet gently. "Were there any choice, we would spare Estela the pain. But this needs to be done. Her kin needs to be redeemed, and others need to see, to know of her story and struggle so that they may do better themselves."

"Yes, as our Father decreed," Manwë said. "And now it shall begin,"

"The beginning of something new, or the beginning of the end?" Tulkas asked, troubled.

No one could answer. Only Estela had the answer to that question.

* * *

Estela moved past them silently, she pressed letters to the desk of her beloved husband. One for him, the other for her priceless daughter.

And she needed to move.

Taking one last look at Ereinion's sleeping face, Estela knew this was how she would remember him- not as a king, but as her husband and true love. He and her children, no matter what became of them, were the greatest gift in this universe for her.

"_I came not to condemn you," he said quietly. "I just want you to know that you are not friendless and that you are not alone." His hand brushed her face._

Estela squeezed her eyes shut.

_His blue eyes stood out in the dark. "I found out in a dream. It was memories. And yes, I did see you that night. I saw you and ever since then I had been agonizing myself over who you were, and where you could be."_

A single tear slid down her cheek, like a diamond.

"_I didn't want you to leave," he whispered. They now realised that he was holding her close- close enough for their faces to touch… Or their lips. _

She remembered their kiss.

She remembered his hand on her belly. She remembered holding her new-born son and daughter in her arms for the very first time, before her son's eyes had opened, and Ereinion holding them both tightly close.

She remembered the first time each of her children said '_Ammë'_.

She remembered Vanimelda cuddling up close to her, Fëanuldon running towards her, Fëanuldon demanding a story, Vanimelda giving her a kiss imbued completely with love and handing her a flower.

And she knew what she had to do.

She wished nothing for to look upon all of them, wide awake once more, to look into their eyes- and to know what Fëanuldon's eyes might have looked like if they were untainted by evil. To see the violet of Vanimelda's eyes glow brighter than gems, more beautiful than the Silmarils, and she would know as she had seen them in her grandfather's hands. The same as her mother's eyes, and so pure and bright. To look upon Ereinion's blue ones that burned even in the dark.

To kiss and hold them once more.

But she couldn't.

Estela shed one more tear- for them. For her husband, for her son, for her daughter. Even for her closest friends whom she knew could not follow her- not this time. She'd shed tears for the ones she'd lost. Now she would shed tears for the ones she was trying to save- one last time.

She'd had a dream. A vision of sorts. And although they did not tell her in words, she knew what they wanted her to do.

She took her horse, but released it as soon as she reached the tunnel.

She entered, her sword drawn like the shieldmaiden she was, brave and allowing not the prospect of death to hinder or slow her.

And through the darkness on her own she went.

She emerged at the other end, two miles away from Barad-dûr, behind some rock outcroppings jutting from the barren earth. Here, Estela, Queen of the Noldor, in this barren place, would make her last stand.

Always had she lamented and been pained that they had died in such desolate places. Now she admired their courage, and could have laughed. She would laugh, too, at the face of death. And as she went, she prayed with all her heart and _fëa_, preparing to give everything down to her last breath for the ones she loved.

Estela knew.

She had to buy them time. In any case, they would awaken soon. It was still dark, though. She already left them instructions.

But she made her way to Barad-dûr.

The fortress towered high above her, held high by Dark Magic, and built of black adamant it seemed, and polished stone, jabbing sharply, coming together to form the fortress. But she took a deep breath and carried on.

All roads led to this.

And she went behind- far behind, until she came face to face with the rocks of the _Ered Lithui_. Barad-dûr, of course, jutted out from the foothills of these mountains that fenced Mordor, along with the _Ephel Dúath_. She sheathed her swords, and grabbed hold of the rocks, starting to climb. It was easier for her, as an elf, but still, she felt as if this would be the hardest thing she did physically in her life. And one of the most foreboding. But she climbed still, ignoring the thunder in her heart. And if she ever thought she was afraid, Estela remembered what she had thought- the courage she had, and the desire to laugh in the face of doom. And renewed in her resolves she climbed higher.

Until she drew close enough to the hills upon which stood Barad-dûr. There, she carefully scaled down, made a short-distance jump, and swung herself upwards and around onto the next hill. Until she reached the last place any sane person wanted to be.

She could really laugh at that thought.

And calmly did she scale the hills until she climbed upon the high ramparts of the fortress.

By some miracle it was deadly quiet there. No sign of orcs or trolls, or anything of the like. No growls and grunts and scowls. By the will of the Valar, it seemed, the minions of Sauron did not bother her, and may not even have been there to see.

But Sauron would never leave his fortress unattended.

And presently, Estela saw a light.

It burned in front of her, and she drew her blades. Approaching warily, she walked silently and saw the pulsing light disappear. A figure soon emerged, with his back turned to her.

A tall figure fair in countenance and form, who turned towards her.

"Sauron." Estela said, the name was dark in her mouth. Sauron's orange-gold and black eyes glowed before he turned.

"Ah, Queen Estela. The guards have been lax, I see."

"A pity," she said. "You never did have competent servants- or plans."

Sauron smirked.

"A wolf does not need sheep to do his bidding," he replied.

"Is that what they are then? Sheep?" Estela laughed. "A fouler flock has never been seen, 'ere on Arda."

Sauron chuckled. "How very true, my beautiful queen," he purred. "But pray tell me, how did you find out?"

"About you?" Estela was incredulous. "Oh, I knew. I saw your eyes, Sauron. Or shall I say, Mairon, once called the Admirable. You were a Maia of Aulë once, weren't you?"

Sauron smiled a thin-lipped smile.

"So out of curiosity, why did you need my cousin to forge the Rings?" Estela asked. "If you were taught by Aulë, why was he necessary?"

The smile faded completely from Sauron.

His eyes turned cold. "Come now, Sauron. There's no reason not to be civil."

How strange it was, for him. Usually he was on this end of the conversation.

"You Fëanorians," he sighed after a while. "I never could really understand you. How you could be so troublesome. How you could cause so much _fear_. So much _damage_. I tricked your father once, into being captured. True, he never lost a fight. I suppose I was fascinated. I could have gone for you, of course, truly, I would love nothing more. But your cousin was there, and he was so easy. He tried to suppress the fire that burned inside him, a fire he knew others would curse if they knew of its existence. And you- you did not understand. You tempered your fire with water, that of your mother's blood I suppose." He gave a laugh. "Your mother. The Princess of Alqualondë. That mother must have given something in you that made you so damned different from the other Fëanorians. I found you an irritation- a terror, a trouble and a danger, and yet I also found you fascinating. So I wondered. I never really did have a son. Until I thought perhaps… Well, even Eöl had Aredhel's willingness. So I had to try another way, didn't I? Someone with something as powerful as your blood… Even Morgoth could not deny you had power. Your fathers could have been greater than anything and anyone- if they hadn't killed their own kind." He smirked. "But here you were. And why not?"

Estela was silent.

"And now I ask, you, Queen Wife, Shieldmaiden and Daughter, how is it that you never felt the urge to give up? To or to take life into your own hands."

"The elves fates are decided for them written in the stars." Estela said finally. "Not our own."

"A pity. Considering that the Valar blamed you for your parents' doings and never gave them a chance for redemption, exiling you all the way through, condemning you to grief and pain, even though you were innocent… You never once felt the need."

Estela sighed. "Oh, Sauron. You really will never understand me, will you? I don't feel the need- if I ever did, I certainly don't feel them now. This is my choice- my fate in my own hands- I choose to fight- the Valar and the All-Father have given me that choice at least. To give up and to succumb to weaknesses, or to fight on. I chose to fight- why? Because I would rather die defiant and fall to the Doom for nothing, than to live submissively. And I think so would others. I do this for _them_. And I don't _want_ to give up- not anymore. And the real treasures are the sparks of life- and no metal or gem could ever compensate or save them."

"A pity." Sauron's eyes glowed. He lifted his hand. "Perhaps you should have told your cousin that- before he fell into despair. Perhaps you should have told all your kin. You should have told all of them that."

The Ring glowed on his finger. It was bright. So bright and gleaming. Gold had never looked more luminous, more exquisite, more entrancing and gorgeous. It was so breath-taking and it whispered promises to her, the red tengwar dancing, as graceful and elegant as she.

Like the Silmarils.

And they all flashed before her eyes. Not because of some miracle, but she remembered it all. The presenting of the Silmarils. Her grandfather holding the three gems, glowing with the Light of the Two Trees, in his hands, to the wide-eyed little Estela, laughing joyfully at the wonder on her face.

She remembered Finwë's shout. And running fast in tiny feet, crawling to where his broken and bloodied corpse lay. She remembered the cry that the Silmarils had been stolen. She remembered her grandfather's rage. The madness that danced and burned in his eyes, the rage he shouted with, and the way her grandmother turned from him.

She remembered Lúthien and Beren- the two hapless lovers, sacrificing all for this one gem. Of Thingol ordering a necklace, refusing despite his Maia wife's warnings to relinquish the gem. Of him being slaughtered by the hands of the dwarves. Of Dior, his grandson, being killed by her uncles, his wife as well, and his sons tied and abandoned in the forest by vengeful servants. She remembered how Elwing, mother of Elrond and Elros, daughter of Dior jumped with the Silmaril, leaving aside her own sons, to bear the gem to her husband and Valinor.

She remembered the gem that her uncle cast into the sea, and disappeared henceforth. She remembered the gem that caused her father to leap into a pit of molten fire and rock.

And she remembered his final words. Their parting.

_"Please Atar," she begged him. "Please."_

_Her father looked at her, the strain of grief written in his handsome face. His loss of his soulmate was written all over, clear as the light of day. And his dark eyes, seemed a darker indigo in their grief._

_"I am forever cursed, forever bound to go," he said hollowly. His resolve threatened to break and crumble as he beheld the form of his only child. "But I cannot lose you as well, _Melda Selde_, no, I never can," he shook his head to shake the tears that formed in miniscule beads in his eyes._

_"I won't let you do this!" she was becoming hysterical. She clutched at his sleeve. "Atar, I won't let you do this!"_

_Maitimo went silent. Then he lowered his head. His face remained in shadow. "I cannot let you die," he said hoarsely, hollowly. "The way your mother suffered and died. I cannot let you be slain, the way many others were."_

_"Then stay!" she almost shrieked, tears coursing down her face in alarming quantities._

_Her father looked up. "You know what to do," he said in a voice that tried to remain emotionless, empty, but came out as hoarse and hollowed even further, by grief at not only what had happened, but what also would occur._

_He looked so hollow and blank as soldiers came up and held Estela by her arms. "What-" she started. Then she shrieked: "Let go of me!" They pulled her back, to the fortress. "Atar-"_

_"_Melanye tye, melda selde_" Her father whispered, raising his head, and for the first time, his tears flowed unchecked. "I will always love you, no matter where I go,"_

_"Atar!" the first time she screamed outright. "Atar, please-" The elves dragged her away._

_"Pleeeasse!" The scream was also was sob. The utterly hysterical scream that ripped through the air, her sobs shaking her chest, "Please, Atar!"_

_"Atar!" she screamed before the door closed and bolted for good measure._

And then he had burnt- risking his life for a gem- all to jump into a pit of fire.

What had it given her? That jewel? She never asked for it- never wanted it. And yet… It had taken from her everything. Her home, her loved ones…

And how many times did she look up in the skies and cursed the remaining gem that travelled through the night, that others looked upon in wonder?

And now another had come to take its place- and she would give her children and her husband the life her fathers had given theirs, all because she fell into temptation.

No. She would not do it.

"No," she said quietly, but strongly. And Sauron heard her. He froze. "What?!"

"I said, _no_." Estela said in a voice imbued with strength from above. "I will not give my loved ones, the life- or death- I was given because I chose a trinket over the life they should be allowed to live. Not for them. Not for _any_ of them."

She raised her sword.

Sauron growled, and then transformed. In his place stood a figure so tall and clad in iron-spiked armour, with spires pointing from his helm and a great mace in his hand.

He struck. She dodged the blow, and twisted, leaping to the side.

Sauron's mace created a cavity deep within the ramparts. He struck again, and Estela danced, leaping out of the way, high into the air, spinning and landing a distance away.

Her eyes flashed. Dawn was rising in the distance.

Sauron howled as she spun, and danced. The two clashed weapons, despite the great mace, she withstood them. They sparred, dancing a dance of death, the Fallen Maia, and the Shieldmaiden Queen. The ringing sounds of metal resounded, and she danced, spinning out of the way, twisting and dodging, aiming blows to distract and frustrate the Fallen Maia, rather than to actually incapacitate him.

Again and again they clashed weapons.

Until the mace's shaft locked with her swords and she twisted with all her strength, calling upon the Valar and the All-Father.

She pulled one sword, quick as a flash, and swept his feet from underneath him, pressing the blade against the throat of his armour.

Astonished, the Dark Lord and the Elven Queen stared at one another.

"It is _over_, Sauron." Estela said, breathing deeply and hard. "My son lies in Valinor, and the House of Finwë has not been defeated. The High King, my _beloved_, marches with an armed host- the largest ever gathered by the foes of evil, on the plains of Gorgoroth. Even if you survive, you shall be defeated."

Sauron's hateful eyes glared at her. "Oh, I don't think so. Your son is still in my grip."

She was shocked. "No, it cannot be. He is in Valinor."

"Is that what you think?" Sauron laughed harshly. "Did you ever check with the ones at the Grey Havens? No, I don't think you did. Your son is _mine_, Estela. My servants intercepted him before he reached the shores. He will never see the Blessed Light of Valinor. The House of Finwë is mine!"

Something much worse than anything Estela had ever imagined, landed upon her. No, it can't be…

But it was not over. Not yet.

"The House of Finwë will never be yours. And neither will the Noldor, or the elves. Or any of the races of Middle-Earth. I have seen to that. You have one inheritor of that House, Sauron. But not an official one. And you do not have them both."

Sauron stared at her in shock.

"It is over." Estela repeated firmly. "Release him, and leave them all in peace- including the _two of them_ I must add, and you may just be spared. You've lost."

Sauron growled. "If that is the case," he said. "I will smite the last of your wretched house until it is naught but the ash that we can taste upon our tongues in this land!"

"You will try- and you will fail- lower than you once were, Sauron." Estela replied, raising her sword.

But before the sword fell, Sauron cast one last desperate act of cruelty.

An image flashed before her eyes.

Her two children, laughing, holding hands- A dark-haired, green-eyed boy and a black-haired, violet-eyed girl. It would never distract her infinitely- but it did for a split millisecond, which was time enough.

Sauron's hands closed around his mace, and he brought it to her neck with a force that she never even processed the pain, before it sent her flying.

Estela never remembered landing upon the ramparts either, never saw the figure of Sauron. All she saw the image of her husband and her children.

All she had done, all that she had tried to do, all that she had failed- was in the judgement of higher beings than she. And she made her peace with that.

She saw the image of her beloved children and husband. Shining. She saw her son as a bright, care-free green-eyed prince, and her daughter as a beauty that would rival Lúthien. She saw her husband with his blue eyes, burning brighter than flames or sapphires lit by the Two Trees which could never be replaced. But neither can loved ones.

And she prayed for them, for she gave herself up for them.

And so the last thing she saw was their image, calling, beckoning to her, and a bright shining light bursting through the sky above, as the dawn broke nearby, the sun rosy and shining, speaking of new promises, of release.

And peace. A peace she never found in life in Middle-Earth.

And so Sauron towered over her, perhaps he could feel confused, even cheated as to why his adversary lay with a gentle smile on her face, as she did as a girl running under the light of the Trees, and as a bride and a new mother, before she felt her soul fly, free, to places lit with gold and silver light.

Something he would never understand.

* * *

_**I'M SO, SO, SO, SO, SORRRRRRYYYYYYY! SORRY, I'M SO SORRY! I KNOW YOU WEREN'T EXPECTING THAT! I'M SO SORRY! **_

_**But this was necessary- and it's not the end! There's more! This isn't the end of her story- there are more chapters- wait and see what happens to her! And him!**_


	51. Chapter Fifty-One

_**The outstanding bit happens, after the second horizontal line onwards.**_

* * *

Chapter Fifty-One

_She was floating. Or rather she would be if she was of any substance, including gas. But she was not._

_She was surrounded not by darkness at all, but light._

_How strange. When others try to imagine what it would be like to die, they always imagine darkness. Not this. But there she was, bathed in white and golden light, weightlessly flying to… A source of bright light? _

_It was light and darkness both. That was what she remembered. She didn't know how to describe it for others who have not died, she could not even process it in her own mind, but there it was._

_There. Next thing she knew she stood before the Gates of Mandos. _

_It was a shining white metal- something bright, and pure. Not even _mithril_ was like this. But she could tell that she stood before the Gates of Mandos. High and well-wrought, with the mark of the Doomsman and Judge of the Valar formed upon it. She could not remember the Gates swinging open. The next thing she knew, she was walking (was it possible to walk without a physical form- it just felt so natural to her) on grass that was green and a sky full of light- nothing like she remembered._

_She did not remember entering anything. But there she was suddenly, encased in the darkness of a room, built of shiny black stone or tile. Everything around her was dark._

_She felt no fear. No discomfort. The same pang of pain resounded through her at the memory of her daughter, husband and son, the ones she was leaving behind. But her fate was now in the hands of Powers higher than hers. _

_She smelt roses._

_Roses. Suddenly she smelt all the scents she had smelt in her life, even those that she had forgotten. The smell of the air she inhaled when she took her first breath of life, mixed with the sharp, slightly salty tang of body fluids. The scent of the soaps and oils and the clean, fresh water in her first bath, the warm scent of lavender and sweet, sugary powder in her baby blanket. The soft scent of the carpets she first crawled upon. The fresh grass that she learnt to walk upon for the first time, in the green hill of Túna. The scent of the fresh salt-tinged sea, and the clear, cool sea air._

_Estela didn't know when the reminiscing turned to actual memories playing right before her eyes. When did the thoughts become visions? But suddenly, she saw it all._

_Until the very last- the end._

_The scent of battle- of blood and gore. The strong sour yet sweet tang of Miruvor and the sickly-sweet smell of medicine, the earthy fragrant honey scent of healing herbs. The scent of Ereinion's robes and hair. The dustiness, and scent of the fabrics she wove. The hot acidic, sharp, tingling, burning smell of Telpe's forge. The fragrance of the flowers on her wedding day. The smell of the blood, black as pitch that filled the room when her son was born- the same smell that lingered on him- bitter and salty, and no matter how many times she bathed him…_

_And the scent of the _elanor_ blossoms. And roses once more- that she smelt on her daughter- _elanor_, roses and _Vardarianna_._

_All the scents she had known in her life. And all the memories, hopes and dreams, and experiences. They were there- with her. The ones she had lost, and the ones she had left behind. _

_They were there. But they were not. And she was truly alone, just- as she now realised with a shock- she had always feared._

_Alone._

_No, she was not alone._

"**Come to me, child." **

_That voice! It was warm yet cold. It was strong, yet gentle. It was old and powerful- ancient as a matter of fact, yet eternal. _

_It was not Sauron's voice- the voice of the Darkness._

"**Child." **

_Again, the voice called to her, beckoning her. Without knowing it, without even thinking about it, she felt herself moving. _

_She did not know if she floated or walked. It could have been the former, as she no longer had physical form- something that should have alarmed her, but didn't- but she went. _

_It should have been cold, deep and dark as it was. But she did not feel it. She neither felt hot nor cold. She did not feel fear, as she should. _

_And she passed through halls that grew over time, with every Age._

_And she saw them- it was dark and yet it was light, inside there. She did not know how she would describe it to others. _

_But a particular illumination came from the sides._

_Tapestries adorned the walls, or they seemed to be tapestries, but they were made out of… not ordinary thread that was certain._

_It was only then she realised that the 'room' she was in, was in actual fact, a very- _very_\- long hall- the longest hall in all of history, and it was no surprise- after all, it grew every day. The ceiling was so high it was shrouded in darkness. _

_And yet there was light._

_Not the Fëanorian lamps that her grandfather invented. Not torches. But glowing balls of light floating around, hovering in mid-air, giving off a dream-like, otherworldly glow. _

_The tapestries themselves seemed to be made of threads that were a perfect blend of fabric and light. She did not know when one ended and the other began. _

_But they were there. And they glowed, with so much power, and greatness and light, and suddenly they were no longer mere illustrations anymore- no matter how fantastical nor magnificent. _

_Suddenly they were there- more than reality, more powerful than anything could describe. _

_And she saw it all before her eyes._

_She saw the darkness of the eternal void before light burst into existence- she saw Eru Ilúvatar, somehow, forming the light, and the image of the Ainur in His mind. She saw the Ainur as glowing beings of bright, unextinguished light, burning so bright, even though they seemed translucent, or even transparent, they were formed out of the light of the All-Father Himself._

_She heard them sing- soundless beautiful notes that could not be heard by earthly ears, nor fathomed and processed by earthly minds. Something so powerful and so beautiful, no one could comprehend it. _

_And something broke._

_A dark chord. A distant thing, but dark. Disturbing, breaking the peace, and beauty and light. Something shattered. Something broke. And Eru stopped the music. _

_There was someone there. A being that was growing dark and more opaque. Something that promised to grow darker still._

_And the All-Father gave his bidding, and suddenly, falling like stars the beings of glowing light- the chosen Ainur- fell from the Timeless Halls, the Heavens and plunged, diving down below. _

_And the All-Father wove a swirl- the music that had been made suddenly took shape and formed and fell into the very centre of the void._

_Something grew in there._

_Something solid. _

_Something burst all of a sudden- whole galaxies, the entire cosmos, of swirling light- like the stars Varda would later nourish. Swirling, swimming through the infinite dark, making it brighter and more beautiful than it could ever be._

_Eä._

_And then rock came- a train of asteroids, forming. And finally her eyes came to rest upon a dark, great expanse. Arda._

_Something like burning fire, entered deep inside its crust. But the Arda there, was not the Arda she knew now._

_She saw rough, harsh jagged rocks, jutting out towards the sky, a dirty red, not the same shade as blood. She saw it move and thrust sharply and suddenly around, shaking terrifyingly, quivering, violent and frightening. Lava boiled and jumped, leaping even._

_There were no seas of water. Instead the oceans, seas, rivers, lakes and falls were of lava- molten rock and fire. Toxic gas, so poisonous, rose like smoke into the sky. It was violent. Deadly. Frightening. _

_And there was static. Static like lightning, suddenly pulsing through the clouds of toxic gas, on and deep inside the rock. Powerful, electric impulses, crackling and waving, reaching out, grabbing, a brilliant fire of light and life, affecting the rising volcanoes, the rock, the magma, the air- everything. And everywhere they touched, it exploded. Sparks and sprays of lava flew into the air, surges of energy everywhere. Lighting struck. Mountains and volcanoes rose. The rock softened, tenderized, mixed with other substances to become earth. Lighting and energy of all kinds and colours suddenly formed the first mountains. _

_Or was it the All-Father and the Valar? _

_The mountains rose higher, the first soil emerged touched by all the energy and what appeared to be lightning._

_And suddenly out of the burnt-orange and red gas, a river- no, an ocean. Amidst dry land- a peninsula, or a bay, it seemed, made out of the first soil, amidst the first waters. _

_And gradually the gas cleared, cleared to form something not toxic, but clean and fresh and healthy. The air turned greyish-blue and soon, the land- not just their mountains emerged and rose higher and it appeared vaguely green- was it emerging with life yet. The greyish gas in the sky suddenly formed into clouds. The sky emerged for the very first time, blue and clear and the water was clear too, and the soil was turning green. The mountains and Arda's crust shifted and moved and grew in height, constantly, the north whitened and ice and snow formed upon it. The clouds moved overhead. _

_Then she saw the Valar and the Maiar. Yes, she saw them at their work. _

_And they must have been there for a long time, now. She realised with a shock. They must have been there, doing the work, with the All-Father at their lead, telling them, or guiding them what to do. _

_She saw Aulë, hammering and chiselling at the mountains, forming them in a certain manner, none of them the same. She saw Ulmo raise the seas high, filling them and urging the life to grow and multiply a plenty, through the depths of the waters. She saw Yavanna spreading her long arms, telling the green, stroking them and loving them, nurturing and nourishing them, making them grow, stronger and healthier than ever. She saw Oromë on Nahar, bringing the animals forth and teaching them, as did his sister Nessa, to run. She saw Nessa then, dancing and Tulkas, laughing at the beasts and their jokes. Vána Ever-Young scattered flowers nearby, making everything bright and fruitful and luminous. She saw Manwë holding out his arms, and he and his Maiar blew, the freshness of the air increased and so did the winds, shifting in their currents, and the skies grew bluer yet. The King of the Valar spread out his arms and the Great Eagles appeared. They brought the wind with them, it seemed, on their mighty wings. And the wind blew. It blew._

_And there was Varda. High on a mountain. With her Maiar around a great cauldron filled with a swirling _something_ that exuded so much light she knew earthly eyes could not see them up close, before she and her ladies scooped handfuls of them and gently tossed and scattered them, high in the night sky. _

_And then the scene changed. She saw Aulë hammering, up close. Flames whooshed and rose high. He was hammering something. Two things._

_Made of gold and silver. If Estela could, she would have gasped. Ornately carved and fashioned, this was elegance and magnificence. One gold and the other silver. Varda filled the two globes at the end with light. And both rose, one in the north and one in the south. Illuin the Silver and Ormal the Gold. _

_But something was wrong. Blood crept into the rivers, ponds, streams and springs, and poison leaked into the plants, making them wither and die, rotting to the ground. Blood from the corpses of dead animals. Some of them were found growling nearby, feral, with sharp and snarling teeth, and hateful, glowing eyes._

_Tulkas sprang into action. She saw a dark shadow in the distance and she knew it was Morgoth- or Melkor as he was known then. Tulkas gave chase, Oromë did too, on Nahar. But soon all was well, it seemed._

_Tulkas arrived back and Nessa danced, flowers springing from her feet and on her hair, rich and bright. She was gowned in white, with flowers in creamy-pastel shades upon the fabric. _

_The Valar and Maiar laughed and danced, feasting and singing. And Tulkas lay down, weary, and Nessa did too, not far away and both slept upon the fragrant green and the beds of flowers. _

_And Melkor delved deep underground, a fortress delved deep into the unwitting earth. It was cavernous, terrifying, dark and so frightening she wanted to scream. There was a pit… larger than anything else. And in it Melkor filled… it with swirling evil, as foul and terrible as everything else was bright and beautiful and pure. _

_And then Melkor charged. He toppled the Great Lamps. _

_The Valar freeze and the Maiar started, stopping whatever they were doing. _

_Tulkas jumped to his feet, and so did Oromë. And Manwë appeared before them and bade them go after Melkor. They gave chase, but Melkor had already fled, trusting in the safety of Utumno, his fortress._

_And up above, the stars shone, in the absence of any other source of light._

_Underneath, in a bay, with a clear sea, people stirred. One woke and rose to his feet, gazing down at the maiden next to him in awe and wonder, which she returned, entranced, as he helped her to his feet. Both were gold-haired. And more came- two dark-haired ones, and two silver-haired ones. _

_And so they went forth, searching, coming across their people, the patriarchs and matriarchs, and all of them made homes and prospered happily, together._

_And there. They looked. They pointed. Over the distance, a rider came, galloping upon a noble steed. Oromë, the Vala Woodsman came with light like the dawn._

_And he spoke to them. And many of them readied to depart, while others balked. And so they set forth. With Oromë. On horses and on foot with canes, with packs upon their backs and saddle-bags. Over the hills and mountains, across the valleys, near the forests._

_Some strayed and stayed behind. Others were lost. _

_And the earth shook and thunderous lightning was seen in the north as many of the fearful elves fled. _

_And the Valar and Maiar, in a great host of life, rained down upon Utumno, with Melkor desperately charging his foul minions, many of them twisted and warped elves, with his dark powers, before retreating deep into his fortress._

_And finally they broke through, and Manwë was shocked as was Melkor. Melkor because he trembled in fear before them, and Manwë because he expected Melkor to be overwhelming in might. But Melkor must have spent the greater part of his powers on his minions and securing his fortress._

_Melkor struck- a desperate try. Tulkas wrestled him to the ground and there, they surrounded him. Aulë bound him with Angainor, the chain stronger than _mithril_, which appeared green and red- and alloy called _tilkal_, which only Aulë could make._

_And there, they dragged him to his prison._

_Three led the way._

_She recognized one of them all too well, and if she still had a heart it would leap. Finwë._

_And there, they came across the shores, of which she would know. And across waters that were strangely and uncharacteristically smooth, like dark blue glass, there were white ships, light and narrow, more graceful than other vessels. And they sailed, the elves aboard, with flocks of swans tied to them, leading the way._

_And there. The ever-green grass and diamond-dusted shores of Valinor, where the loveliest flowers grew aplenty. _

_She saw Yavanna and Varda combining their thoughts and minds until two shoots sprung from the earthen mound, one gold the other silver and filled with light. Nienna watered the ground with her tears and there they sprung, causing the great cities the Eldar raised to bask in its glory and beauty. _

_And then, there was peace._

_But then Estela saw scenes she knew all too well. Some she had not seen herself, but had been told about. Others she had witnessed and it had scarred her for life._

_For then she was herself, confronted with these memories of time. When had they become images passing through her very eyes from mere embroidered patterns? _

_Her great-grandfathers' coronations in Tirion and Alqualondë, respectively. The coronation of High King Ingwë in Valmar. The marriage of her great-parents. And the royal births. _

_Including her own grandfather._

_There, the cowardice of Míriel hit her harder than before. She would have been here, Estela thought, in anger. The foremother who willingly abandoned them all, in spite of knowing what would happen. Or rather, because she _knew_ what would happen._

_And look what Estela had to go through. And not only Estela, which she alone could forgive, but every other member of her family, and countless more besides. The price Míriel paid for her sole tranquillity._

_She saw her grandfather remastering the Sarati, and inventing the Tengwar, the Fëanorian Lamps, the Palantíri and worse of all- the Silmarils. _

_And his marriage to her grandmother. Her grandmother, whom she realised in shock, would still be alive. As would her maternal grandparents. _

_She hadn't thought about Nerdanel in a while. Even her maternal grandparents received more thought._

_And there was the birth and growing of their seven strong, and healthy, talented sons. _

_The marriages made. The births. Her father's marriage. Them beseeching the Valar and the All-Father for a child. The Fëanturi's response. Her birth on Telperion's brightest-shining night. _

_And the happy years. Until the madness. When Melkor was released._

_It was all too much. She wanted nothing more than to look away. But she couldn't. _

_Her vision stayed glued to the images. _

_There was nothing she could do but watch the very events that shaped her family's reputation go before her eyes._

_Until the very end. Their deaths. Her father in the pit of fire. _

_Estela moaned. She saw the beginning of the Second Age and the Chaining of Morgoth, once more, but it brought no satisfaction. Her cousin finding Eregion. The marriages between her and the High Elven King. Their children. The making of the Rings of Power. And the One Ring. _

_The destroying of Eregion. The slaughtering of her cousin's family._

_Everything. Even the births and losses._

_Estela moaned. She did not remember falling, and she could not imagine it, but she felt herself bent down. _

_She didn't even know she had stopped._

_Soundless screams and moans were heard in the Halls. Sobs resounded. Moaning and sobbing, she had no idea that it was she who was weeping._

* * *

"**My child,"**_ a voice said gently and softly._

_She sobbed and looked up. There, upon a black marble throne stood a figure she had known she would someday see. Even hoped for it at many times._

_Robed in wine-red and black, his locks black as melted jet with a crown of _mithril_ and shadow covering his eyes and expression, the Lord of Mandos sat, on his throne before her. His skin was pale, but she could only see a small amount of his face._

_Estela knelt there, in front of the Doomsman she knew she would confront someday._

_She bowed her head._

"**You've seen the memories, I see."**_ He mused. She was shocked. Because this was the voice she had heard when she first entered. And it was not what she was expecting from the Vala that pronounced the Doom. _**"The Images of Time recorded on the very tapestries of my beloved, and her handmaids." **

_Estela stared, then looked down, numbly. _

I do not deny anything._ She found herself saying, as if she still had a tongue and mouth. As if she had physical form. Except that it was totally soundless. Yet the sound of her voice filled her ears- how could this be? Maybe as she was not in physical form, then her voice would not be either?_

I wondered if this moment would come,_ she continued. _Always I wondered. Sometimes I even longed for it. And I am ready to accept whatever Doom you may have for me, Lord Námo. I accept my fate and I trust them into your hands and in the hands of the other Valar, and the All-Father.

_Námo raised his eyebrow in the shadows. _**"Truly? Most even deny or despair that they are dead."**

_She shook her head. _Not I, Lord of Mandos. I have resigned myself to this long ago. My fate is in the hands of higher- and purer- beings than myself. This, I have always known, and accepted.

"**You are a different child to Our Father," **_he mused. _**"Pure and strong. Beautiful yet as strong as you are fair and pure. You were right. And on more than that. The War of Wrath was a failure on behalf on the Eruhíni. The various divisions with elves, humans and dwarves. Even the ents failed. All of them, more concerned about their own well-being and their own goals and aims to worry themselves about the fate of Arda. But you? You are different. Although I felt you intended to redeem your House, I believe as such that you wanted something else. Something not for yourself. Am I right?"**

_Estela didn't know what to say. _

"**Very few things you have allowed to keep for yourself," **_Námo continued. His voice was gentle. Not at all like one that imposed doom. _**"Why is that? Even your marriage, your children…. Everyone sacrifices things if they understood love, but never more than what they have to. You?**

"**Oh, Estela. My child. You believe that I would impose the Doom against you? Heartlessly against all others? Even the ones that fall deserve to have a second chance, if they are capable and choose to do Good. But we had to be sure that **_**you**_** would choose Good. Was that what you feared? That no matter how much the fruits of your labours, it would all be for nothing?"**

My son, _Estela whispered brokenly, in tears of light. _My husband and daughter.

_Námo sighed. _**"Yes. There is that. But even in the darkest of nights, there is always light. Come," **

_Suddenly, the room swirled. Estela found herself somewhere. _

_It was dark alright. This was, without the place, the darkest place in Eä. In fact, an imaginary chill (she could no longer feel cold) swept through her, as she wondered if she was still in Eä. _

_But then she could make something out. A huge, dark shape. It was _HUGE. _Larger than anything she had ever seen. Not even dragons or Balrogs could compare. But then she saw it had the outline of… something. Or someone._

_And there, glinting around the apparently dormant form, wrapped around it, was a chain that glittered in all colours- predominantly red and green, depending on where one looked at it. A metal unlike any found on Arda or made by the elves. _

_And an iron crown._

_Estela would have gasped if she could, as she realised who this was._

"**Here lies Morgoth, Dark Enemy of the World, formerly Melkor, He-Who-Arises-In-Might, former Vala and brother to Manwë in the Eyes of Our Father."**_ Námo intoned solemnly. _**"The cause of many sufferings. Including yours. And who would one day be released."**

_Startled, she looked up to him. _What?!

"**A day will come, as Our Father would say, when Morgoth kicks aside the Doors of Night that separates him from the rest of Eä. When he and Sauron arises and sets free the other monsters from the void. A time when he destroys the Sun and Moon. The time for Dagor Dagorath."**

_That term meant the Final Battle. _

_Námo looked at her. _**"Yes,"**_ he said. _**"All things have an end. Including the Ages of the Sun and Moon. Including Arda as we know it. The next time Morgoth is freed, would be his last. And at last, we shall descend from Taniquetil, and battle once more. And all those great heroes of the past shall be re-embodied, released from Mandos. Ecthelion of the Fountain. Túrin Turambar son of Húrin… And your family."**

_She stared at him, wide-eyed and in shock._

But,_ she whispered. _I thought you said they were Doomed. Forever condemned…

"**My prophecy was given," **_he said softly. _**"But it was the journey, not the destination that was foretold. You were the key to the destination. The one who revealed the End of the Journey- for us and for Arda. "**

_Estela stared at him. _

"**The test had been passed. We were to see if there was one among their number who had the courage and the strength to resist the lure of temptation and their own desires. And if one passed the test, others would be spared- and redeemed. The All-Father promised the House of Fëanáro would not be destroyed, if just one could prove them wrong- prove that they, who had been adored and looked-up to before their fall- could stand and hold against evil. And against all odds, you exceeded all expectations. You did what you did, even for those you had never met. Thousands, if not millions have you to thank for. And although they may not know it, it is to you, that we will survive the fall into darkness."**

_Námo smiled down at her, and suddenly Estela found herself in another place entirely. Where she was, she did not know. _

"**Estela, child." **_Námo said. _**"Eruvandë, you were named, Promise of Eru, for you were the promise Our Creator made, not only to your parents- but for the rest of Arda. Estela was your mother-name, and it meant Hope. And a Hope you were to become for the races of Middle-Earth and for Arda."**

_They stared at each other for a long time. _

"**Long have your fates been determined by others," **_Námo said. _**"But now, I give you a choice: Stay here, in my Halls, and find healing and peace. You will like it here, for despite their fears, they always do." **_There was a hint of a smile in his voice. _**"Here you will find bliss, rest and healing. And when the time comes, if you so choose, you may be re-embodied and sent back to live amongst the ever-green valleys of your home- your birthplace. Do you wish that?"**

_Estela felt once again that she was crying imaginary tears._

Peace,_ she whispered. _I may have forgotten what that was._ She hung her head. _But how can I heal when my _children_\- are still out there? And my husband? What will happen to them? I have lost all. How can I save them, if I am to stay here, to linger in bliss? How can I even _heal_? I have no desire to be ungrateful, Lord Námo. In fact, you have shown me the greatest kindness and mercy. But I cannot be at peace when others are not at peace. The world will suffer. And as a mother… _She choked. _

My children, _she whispered. _Oh, my children. _And there Estela, deceased Queen of the Noldor wept._

And I cannot go back, s_he wept. _Even if all my family were there, even if the memories could be erased. Nothing would be the same without them in any case. And not all my loved ones will be here. Sauron has my son. My family will suffer. The world will suffer. Lord Námo, how can I be at peace with that?

"**If that is your decision," **_Námo mused._** "Once again, you think of others before yourself. Then I have a solution. Your family is to be released- but not all. And you, yourself, Estela must come. The All-Father has called to me."**

* * *

And at that moment, every Ainu froze. Every Vala became still and listened to something, it seemed, with a rapture. Every Maia stopped whatever they were doing and froze.

And at that moment something unheard of, unprecedented happened in the history of Eä.

At that moment, in the Halls of Mandos, Estela, the _fëa_ of the Queen and shieldmaiden of the Noldor was submerged in a rectangular pool filled with waters of deepest midnight blue, glittering with lights, like stars, except that these were something else entirely. Something with the Light of the Ainur.

And there, the Lord of Mandos came. He took the _fëa_ of Estela, and bore it with him up high.

For the first time in Ages, he departed Aman. And the other Ainur came with him.

They had made their judgement. The Valar handed this power to the One from which all powers come from.

And to Halls of Light, timeless and immemorial, did they bear the first earthly being to come.

The last thing Estela saw before she rose to the Heavens was light.

And there something truly miraculous happened. The stars themselves seemed to celebrate, and the sun and moon glowed together at the same time.

The Ainur glowed with their inner light, shining so brightly, it could only be Heavenly Light. In the ever-green grass of Valinor, in Tanquetil and the skies, under the deeps which were ruled over by Lord Ulmo, everywhere, the Ainur shone with light through their real forms- their own spirits.

And an elven _fëa _was forever changed. No longer elf. Not human or dwarf either. No longer bound to the earth.

And the heavens exploded with light, as did the sky. And Elves on Valinor gasped as they beheld the night sky, as bright as day.

And then something burst through the heavens, shining with such brilliant light. No star could shine that bright. No gem. No, what shone was not of the earth, what shone through the heavens and the skies, was a Maia.

With wings so white and shining they outshone those of clouds just before the sun bursts through them, so magnificent they were, they created the most powerful winds, the Maia soared through the skies.

And there, Eärendil on Vingilótë, stopped as he sailed through the skies, and stared as something much, _much_ brighter than his Silmaril, swooping past him, and soaring high into the air, on great, shining wings, reflecting the light as well as exuding its own. High into the air, amidst the stars, she went and the Maia took her very first breath as another being entirely for the first time.

Her burnished copper hair, streaked with pure silver and gold, as if from Laurelin and Telperion, shone brighter than ever, streaming back, loose curls and gentle waves moving with the wind. Her eyes were closed, savouring this new moment- and the opportunity, above all, to help the ones she cared about.

And the ones she loved.

And Estela opened her eyes to a brand-new life. An eternal life, something which not even the elves dreamt to have- the earthly beings. For all was filled with light and the freshness and coolness of the air.

And tears shone in her emerald eyes, shining with the Light of the Ainur which the All-Father bestowed upon her, as she beheld all in her new life, and whispered the names of the ones she loved.

And as she stretched out her arms, she whispered their names.

And readied herself for a brand-new task, one that lay ahead.

* * *

_**Bet you weren't expecting that!**_

_**Epilogue is next chapter. What happens next. The task she's assigned to.**_

_**Yes, I know this is unusual. But any explanation would be given next chapter. **_


	52. Chapter Fifty-Two

_**And here's the conclusion. It's a bit long- sorry about that. And at last she meets the ones she had lost. She's different, now. It's not what she expected.**_

* * *

Epilogue

In Middle-Earth, Mordor…

"Where is she?" Muttered Fëapoldon harshly.

Maltariel could only shrug helplessly as the whole encampment searched for the missing Queen.

"Well, we can omit several options she might have taken," she answered.

"She didn't take us, so that means she isn't on another mission," she began. "And if she deserted then Morgoth has to be the cuddliest, sweetest fellow in all of Eä. And she has never done anything reckless, so there is no reason to think that she-"

But Maltariel was halted by the arrival of Ereinion Gil-Galad. The High King strode into the camp, and with a note clutched to his hand. No, not a note, a letter.

Stunned, the two of them could only watch as Gil-Galad made his way across to them.

"Do you know what this means?" He asked, eyes flashing, handing them the letter.

It was addressed to Gil-Galad- obviously. And it was from Estela.

_My dearest, only love,_

_If I could spare even one more minute with you, I would._

_There is so much that needs to be said, yet few can ever be put to words. And there is so little time besides._

_For an immortal, the irony is that I never had much time. Not with my parents or kin, and not with you and our children, it seemed._

_By the time you read this, know that the Will of All-Father and the Valar would have been done. Do not question or curse them as it is I who have undergone that decision- for all of us. For Middle-Earth and all its races, for my family, and last but not least, for you, my love and our children._

_Know that I am long-gone by the time you look upon this. I was called away- summoned. And do not believe that I went lightly. My fate- as is that of all the Eldar- was never in my hands, unlike the fates and destinies of Men. They have called to me, and presented a task, and I must answer and complete it._

_Ereinion, my love. No words can express how much love I have for you. There is nothing, nothing I would not do for you, nothing at all. For all the poems and songs of our race, none has ever come close to describing the love I feel for you. I have no one else but you and our children. Love was never something to play with, for us. You never came to sing underneath my window, I never gave you a token, such as a handkerchief. But what we have is likely stronger than if we had done so. The love I have for you and our children is the strongest, stronger than a river that has forced its way through rock, it seems. But no similes or metaphors are necessary. We never needed such trivial things to strengthen our bond. Even though I tried to push you away. _

_I did not do so because I did not love you. But because I feared that I would lose you, as I did all the rest of my blood. And you and any children that we might have would suffer as a result of the Doom hanging over my House. Our son is lost. But our daughter, not so. And one day we shall all be reunited on shores and valleys greener than the ones we see upon Middle-Earth._

_Do not forget why I have left: I did this for the Noldor elves- for all the elves and other races of Middle-Earth- for our friends, even the ones I do not know, and for you and our children, Ereinion. I do this for you all. I would not leave unless I was certain it was what the All-Father and the Valar would want. And if there was a chance I might save others. Please do not forget why I did this above all else._

_And keep going. Even in the darkest of nights there is light. Even a small bump of good can topple a great evil. Keep going- for the elves, for the races of Arda, for our children and for me, if there is still love within you. Do not falter because if you do so, it would all have been for nothing, and all hope would be lost._

_Keep going my love, do not lose hope. And one day, we shall all meet again on shores of ever-green and we would never be parted._

_Love eternal,_

_Estela._

Shock penetrated their features.

"What does this mean?" Maltariel gasped. "What does she- plan to- to-"

She could not finish.

"I was hoping you would tell me," the High King said. "She never conducts a mission without you."

Maltariel looked at Fëapoldon helplessly. "She never has- not before this! She's never done anything reckless! She would never do anything reckless! We were never awakened in the night like she usually would if we had a task to complete!" She said aghast.

Fëapoldon was white. "She left a set of instructions, though."

Ereinion's white face darted in his direction and his freezing blue eyes stabbed at Fëapoldon. "Instructions?! What instructions?!"

"A note saying we must proceed with the plan and go through the wereworm tunnels." Feapoldon was almost as white as Gil-Galad. And we are to join with her there."

Ereinion relaxed slightly but cursed. "What was she thinking? She has never done anything like this before!"

Maltariel could only shrug helplessly as Ereinion went off to give orders to advance- without the queen.

* * *

The new Maia soared through the skies, tearing great gusts of powerful winds through the air. The Maiar of Ulmo laughed and jumped, like dolphins through the surface and back down again, laughing, singing and waving joyfully at her.

She could have sworn she glimpsed Uinen.

Estela looked at the world with new eyes. And new memories. Given to her by all of the Ainur, especially the memories during the Creation process.

Her wings had feathers so soft- softer than swansdown- and so white, it outshone the clouds just before the sun burst through them. They were massive, and they radiated light of their own, sometimes reflecting different colours like jewels. And she used them like she had been born to do so.

And she felt good. Better than she had ever recalled feeling as an elf.

And she could see and hear all.

Was this what the other Ainur felt, when they heard prayers and calls for help?

Everything seemed brighter. The blue of the seas and skies, the green of Valinor, the white of the sea-foam even and the swans in Alqualondë.

Everything was so bright. And so defined- not even an elf had senses like her new ones.

She saw the individual drops and bits of sea-foam on the waters.

She heard the swishing of water-currents and saw the fish, moving through the waters deep below. She saw the particles in the air, swirling, dancing even. She could taste the hint of salt from the particles that came from the sea, the dampness, the freshness of the air. She could hear the birds and the peoples calling from a distance.

Estela flew to land, her winds flowing rhythmically with the wind.

People in Alqualondë turned wide-eyed at the new Maia. They had been told _everything_ about her story. And the older ones remembered and all knew who she was. And they gazed in awe at her flying form, as Manwë waited.

She landed gracefully in front of him.

Normally a _fëa_ who had just been re-embodied needed to get used to and learn how to be alive once more. But Estela was a Maia. No longer an elf, or a creature of the earth.

Manwë smiled with joy as he beheld her.

Estela landed, feeling the grass, a richer green than that of Middle-Earth, which she had been born to. The land which she had been born and lived out the happiest years of her childhood.

She was back.

Elves gathered, wide-eyed at the sight of the new Maia, glowing and glittering with light. As tall as could be, and shining with all the purity and beauty that no earthly creature possessed. Her soul renewed. Her form another thing entirely.

She looked the same as she did in her elven life, but brighter, much more beautiful, brilliant and splendid radiant with light.

She knelt before the King of the Valar.

"My child," Manwë said. Joy unnumbered was in his face and eyes.

"My lord," she murmured kneeling before him.

The other Valar and Maiar soon appeared. They smiled with joy as they beheld this new sister, and member of their order.

"Rise," Manwë said. She did as she was bid to do, and her eyes were like stars. The elves whispered.

"Here is Estela, formerly Princess, then Queen and shieldmaiden," Manwë announced. "For centuries she had suffered, and toiled for the sake of others, without a thought for herself, not seeking to conquer or be glorified, but to serve. She has lost all in the fight against evil. Her loved ones suffered and died, and their names were stained. And she fought not merely to redeem them, but to save others. She stood up, not simply against the Dark Lord, but against the expectations that others pressed upon her. From this day on, Eru Ilúvatar, Father and Creator of us all, has granted her a gift, never before given to the Eruhíni, for she is the most worthy. The only one willing to look past her own wants and needs, even her own desire to be loved and accepted. She looked and cared for even the ones she had never met and will not likely see for the course of her life. Who else has done so? I admit others have come close, but not at the same level as she. During the War of Wrath, any who stood against Morgoth did so because he confronted them and they had nowhere to hide left. Others simply hid. Or else what they did, they did for the ones they knew and loved. Not so Estela. Ask yourselves, did the heroes of the tales of old, of Gondolin and Doriath, who fought against Morgoth, had anything but their own goals in mind?"

And all thought about Lúthien, she confronted Morgoth and entered Angband. But she only did so for the man Beren. Not even Melian can dispute that, and the fact that Thingol, her father, refused to be involved in the fight at all. Even the Lords and Ladies of Gondolin did not fight until confronted by Morgoth with nowhere to hide. The Sons of Fëanor and their father, swore an oath of vengeance- and to get back the Silmarils even if they killed others. Even Eärendil and Elwing fled to take the jewel, and did not fight until the end. The jewel had been the most important- and the ones they already knew. All had their own goals and aims, and this was the reason why the War of Wrath, without the interference of the Valar, was a complete and utter disaster, no matter the victories won.

"And so she has proven that her deeds weighed more than all those put together and thus her good deeds weigh stronger than the deeds of others," Manwë continued. "Including her own kin."

Murmurs swept through the crowds.

"True," Námo said. He held out a set of scales and among the scales were glowing orbs. One was made out of pure light, and the other was stained and tainted with something dark, like ink. "The light holds the deeds of Estela. The dark the failings and sins of her kin. Let us see which one proves stronger, shall we? Is the light- all her good deeds- enough to redeem her kin? Let the All-Father decide."

And all saw. The light was stronger and weighed more than the dark. It shone brighter than ever, so much they were almost blinded.

"And thus the All-Father has spoken," Manwë said. "They are redeemed."

Everyone stared at Estela in astonishment and a number started to cheer. Estela bowed her head.

"But her task is not done," Manwë announced. "Her son was poisoned with the blood of the Dark Lord, tainted and enslaved before his birth, and remains in his clutches. Her daughter, born with the blood of Ilmarë, Maia of the Stars, has an uncertain fate. And destiny has determined that Estela and her blood shall play a part in the Dagor Dagorath, the Battle to End all Battles."

Gasps and murmurs penetrated the air. Many of them went pale at the thought of Morgoth's release.

"And this is why we need Estela and the heroes of old," Manwë continued. "For when that time comes, we shall need all the heroes we have that fought against evil. Even the ones that seemingly stained themselves. And so I call upon you, Estela. I give you this one task- with it comes the opportunity to help and save your daughter, and perhaps regain your son's freedom and save him. I call upon you, to gather as many heroes as you can- the bravest and the purest of heart, and bring them to prepare for Dagor Dagorath, with your family. We shall need them all, and all our strength for that day, and thus they have been redeemed. Now Estela, go out and claim your followers for this task, choose the shieldmaidens to help you in this task, and claim the ones that are worthy."

Estela bowed her head once more.

Cheers erupted, as Estela made her way.

She stopped.

There were some she already knew.

Olwë, King of the Teleri and his wife stood there. As did Arcalimar, her maternal grandfather, and her maternal grandmother. Nerdanel was there as well, and many of her aunts- and her cousin, she realised. They were fully grown now.

Arafinwë and Eärwen, Findaráto and Amárië were there as well. And Indis, she realised in a shock. And her elder daughter, Findis.

She was unsure of whom to greet first.

Many of them had tears in their eyes. Some openly sobbed. Tears coursed down her grandparents' cheeks.

She did the only thing she could- she curtsied, low to the ones she thought she would never see.

Instantly she was startled to find herself wrapped in such tight embraces she could do no more than to blink rapidly.

She was embraced tightly, hugged and kissed.

"My child," Arcalimar whispered. Olwë said the same thing. "Look at you!"

And she registered how strange it must be, for them to see her not only as a Maia, but as fully-grown.

She spent hours with them, as there, they embraced and held her in turn.

Of course there were some missing.

"_Hinya_," Arcalimar said. "Look how you've grown!" Tears streaked his eyes. "I've missed you so much, little one."

She blinked and smiled. "And I you, Grandfather."

She could feel the tears gathering in her own eyes.

Her maternal grandparents both kissed her, and her great-grandparents and they all embraced her tightly, tears flowing freely, and murmured conversation involved, before she turned to the Noldorin members of the family.

Nerdanel.

Her paternal grandmother had not changed much since she last saw her, parting ways with her grandfather, under the argument whether or not she and the twins should remain behind with her. Except that she seemed bowed down with grief, and heavy sorrow and disbelief that she was there.

Estela did not take as much after Nerdanel as she did the other members of the family, both of the Noldorin House, and the Telerin. Her father took after Fëanáro in his face and features, who took after Míriel, and a little of Finwë. Her mother she inherited half her features from, but Nerdanel's burnished-copper hair was her own, minus the gold and silver streaks that came from her mother's heritage. And her eyes were green, clear like emeralds.

Estela bowed her head, before her grandmother, sobbing, but trying to control her sobs, embraced her.

"_Amillë,"_ Estela murmured. Tears ran down Nerdanel's cheeks and Estela wondered what it must have been like, all those centuries, for her.

She sighed and embraced her. "Yes," she whispered. "I'm back."

Nerdanel sobbed. Her parents, Mahtan and Istarnië stood nearby, watching, also with tears. Nerdanel clung to her, just as her maternal family did and refused to let go.

How strange. She was taller than Nerdanel! The last time she saw her, Nerdanel, like all the others, had a habit of picking her up and cuddling her, carrying her around. She was small then.

"Child," she whispered. "My little one." Her green eyes, the same as Estela's was filled with tears. "I've missed you. But I knew this day would come."

Really? Estela looked surprised. Her eyes then travelled to Indis, standing near her uncle, Ingwë whom she realised in shock, was there as well.

She curtsied low, "Ingwë Ingaran." She murmured. But instantly, Ingwë said, "My lady. You bow to no one." And next thing she knew he was there, bowing to her.

All of them, suddenly bowed to her. She felt uneasy. "Please," she said. She looked at Indis. "My lady."

Indis smiled. Unlike her grandfather, Estela had had a bond with her, a genuine bond of love and kinship, as if she had been her foremother.

Which was more than she could say for Míriel. "My child," Indis' reached out her hand, and Estela remembered it was as soft and white as it was.

Indis' sapphire eyes glistened. She and Estela embraced. "We've waited so long for you," she murmured. "But we never dreamt it would be like this."

And here was Estela, re-embodied in ways she could never imagine, with the ones she believed she had lost forever.

"Lord Námo arrived to give us warning," Indis said. She leaned closer to Estela. "Your family awaits."

Heart pounding, Estela wondered what she meant.

"We are planning a celebration later," Indis said. "In Valmar. Lord Námo warned us that you might prefer to have it there."

She did. Alqualondë and Tirion… The memories were still there, and still pained her, even as a Maia.

She bowed her head. "I thank you, and although my heart weighs heavy, at least I have hope now."

Indis smiled.

"Estela," Nerdanel said. "There are others you must see."

She turned to her grandmother.

"In the Gardens of Lórien," Nerdanel said. "They are waiting for you." Estela's eyes grew wide.

"There is much yet that needs to be done," she murmured. "Are they all there?"

"Yes," Nerdanel said. "Including the ones that have yet to be released. And another,"

Confusion struck her for a minute before she looked back and forth between the two_ nissi_.

Indis looked sad and solemn. "Your foremother," she said reminding herself that this child was not of her blood. "Míriel."

Shock hit Estela like a boulder from a catapult.

"Míriel Serindë is forever dead," she said. "She dwells in Mandos, and she refused, when the chance was given, to be released."

"She has been re-embodied," Indis said. "She is now among Vairë's handmaids, weaving the tapestries of time that tells the tale of the House of Finwë."

Shock hits Estela once more. "That cannot be. She refused. She did not want- she was given the chance…."

But she knew.

"Why?" She whispered, eyes squeezed tightly closed to contain herself. "Why now? Why did she choose to be re-embodied now? She knew what she caused,"

"Estela," Nerdanel began. "She knew what would happen to my grandfather, my father and uncles, and the rest of us. She knew. She had a _vision_, Grandmother. She saw it. She knew. And she chose not to return because of it."

A tear slid down Estela's cheek.

"In many ways I am glad she never did. Otherwise I would not have known you." She addressed Indis. "But what about the rest of us? What about the ones who suffered because of her decision? And me? I would have died by torment from Morgoth before they pried my children from my arms. I would still claw my way back, tooth and nail to them if I could."

Nerdanel and Indis sighed. Eärwen and Amárië watched nearby.

"You have every reason to hate her," Indis said slowly. "But are we not punished because of the past enough?"

Estela smiled, bittersweet. "That was what I was about to say. But why now? Why now when it was all too late? Why come back now?"

Nerdanel sighed. "Go to her, perhaps she can explain."

The last thing Estela had wanted as she thought about it numerous times on Middle-Earth, while still an elf, was to come face-to-face with this foremother.

But the new Estela spread out her wings and took off.

It didn't take long for her to reach Lórien.

* * *

Ereinion went through the tunnels. He disliked it instantly.

But he gave no thought of it and went on.

The tunnels smelt strongly of orc filth. And what lay strewn all over the place was best not mentioned. AT ALL.

Gritting their teeth, the Great Last Alliance moved forwards in the filthiest, dankest, most disgusting place in all of Arda.

They were relieved to breathe air again- not fresh, but at least not dank and over-cloyed with orcs' filth.

There. There was the Plains of Gorgoroth. And there, they could see Barad- dûr.

"Where is she?" Fëapoldon whispered. "Where is the queen?"

As if in answer to his question, a figure on a lanky black horse came forwards. The mare seemed brow-beaten and worn, lanky and strange in her shape as she slumped forwards, slouching. The figure itself was clad in iron armour.

It was obviously not an orc, or even a man-sized _Uruk-hai_. This was a Dark Númenórean.

The man was sallow. And that was the thing with Dark Númenóreans. Their colourings differed greatly from the Dúnedain, despite coming from the same ethnic group. Some were so unhealthily sallow, it looked as if they were drained of blood. Not even pale-skinned people of other races looked like that. While others were swarthy, it didn't look natural either, instead, they might have dyed their skins with something like foul-smelling plant-extracts.

This one smiled evilly under his helm. One could tell that he was pleased about something. Dark Númenóreans hated elves.

"Greetings, O' Great King," Rasped the man. "I bring welcome from Sauron, my master."

Ereinion looked icily at the man. It was frightening to behold.

"And I bring gifts for you," he whispered. "To show our honourable goodwill."

Oh please.

The man gestured back at him.

There were others- Dark Númenóreans like him, who were carrying something between them.

It was a casket made of shiny gold. Engraved and ornately-carved, it was enamelled with red and gold and laced with opals and jade. Ereinion was stunned. He recognized this as the work of Celebrimbor.

They must have taken it when Eregion fell, he thought. Along with many other treasures.

The man smirked.

"Sauron sends you this, undefiled and unmolested, to show his goodwill- apart from that which has already been done in the night," he smirked again.

Ereinion went ice-cold inside. Not even the Helcaraxë felt this icy. Not even the dread of Mandos' appearance could feel like this, this growing dread and horror, because he knew Sauron, would never bring gifts unless it brought much sorrow.

Slowly, warily, he looked inside. As did all the others.

What they saw they would be haunted for the rest of their lives, if not horrifically scarred in _fëar_.

Ereinion screamed and howled as the Dark Numenoreans, relishing the heartbreak, shock and loss of the Elven King, tried to supress their glee, at the sight of Gil-Galad upon the sight of his wife's dead body.

Howling to the heavens, everything shook it would seem. It was a scream that shook them all to their very core, which all would remember for the rest of their lives, especially in their darkest moments. Maltariel too, screamed in denial, weeping uncontrollably while the others wept and made cries of rage and threats.

The elven body of the Noldorin Queen, lay dead in the casket. Peacefully sleeping, it would seem, with a slight smile on her rosy lips, save for the horrible angle on which her neck was bent- the spine had been crushed utterly in that area, and the gaping wound was present in her lovely neck like a swan's. It was a terrible hole through her flesh and bone, great dark and gaping.

She was dead.

Ereinion howled with grief and sorrow, bent down as Elrond, himself, trying to contain _his_ own grief, tried to support him. The elves gave cries and wept openly, not caring for the Dark Númenóreans' glee.

"A pity," purred the messenger. "She was so brave. So beautiful. So much suffering. But the Dark Lord was merciful."

Ereinion froze. Eyes flashing in anguish and hate, faster than human eyes could follow, in his anguish, he struck.

The blow stabbed the man's neck and he lay gurgling upon the ground, choking on his own blood. The next one fell soon after- too soon, for Ereinion's liking. And the other one. At this point Ereinion and a few others, including Estela's companions, decided to butcher them themselves.

Until all lay dead.

But as the High King howled in his grief, he knew it could never bring Estela back from the dead.

* * *

Maybe not them.

Estela landed on the soft grasses of the Gardens of Lórien. More breath-taking than any else upon Arda.

There, amidst gardens, flowers and pools of unimaginable great beauty, Estela raked her eyes.

She had been in the Gardens of Lórien before, as a little girl.

And she tread softly and carefully.

There, at last she saw someone. There was a maiden with straight, silver hair, flowing.

The person turned and she saw with astonishment, her face. And it was a lot like her own. It was narrower, though, but as finely-boned and chiselled, sculptured well beyond an artist's masterpiece. The chin was small and rounded, narrowing from the rest of the face. The cheekbones were high and very fine, beautiful. The nose thin, high and straight. That was the least of it. All in all, this was the face she had seen, in her grandfather and her father.

Míriel Serindë at last met the descendant she never knew.

Estela did not know how to approach this person. In life she thought if she had ever gone to the Halls of Mandos, she fully intended to curse and make hell the existence of this being.

But now all her firepower, all her hate, all her rage, was gone.

"Míriel Þerindë," she said coolly, knowing that this person liked that pronunciation of her mother-name.

Míriel slowly went before her descendant. The same descendant that suffered because of what she chose not to go through.

Estela saw her foremother's eyes were dark blue- so dark it was almost black. A dark brilliant blue, however. So clear and with a silver-star with eight points cutting and shining through the darkness, making it very bright.

Except instead of the pride others spoke of, they were instead clouded with grief, shame and guilt.

She knelt to the ground.

"Eruvandë Estela." She whispered. "Have you come to condemn me?"

"Would you blame me if I did?" Estela asked coolly. This person was a stranger to her, despite sharing the same blood.

"No," Míriel whispered. The silver tresses swayed as she shook her head. "I would not."

"I thought you said not to blame you for what happened and what was to come- isn't that what you said? To my forefather?"

Unbeknownst to them, they were being watched by just about everyone there.

"You knew," Estela said. "What have you been doing since you came back to life? Weaving the tapestries of time?"

"The deeds of the House of Finwë."

"Including those of your forsaken son." Estela said bluntly. Míriel looked as if she had been flogged with barbed whips.

"You wish to hate me, you wish to brow-beat me," Míriel said. "I won't stop you. But I very well know what you have gone through all these years. Lord Námo made me aware of everything. I watched everything from all the tapestries hung in the Halls of Mandos. I saw…"

"I know you must have. And yet I must say it. I think we deserved to be heard in the very least. So I will say it nonetheless. Countless millions suffered from your decision to run away. It was nothing short of cowardice. Even though you were weary, the real reason you went to Mandos, and the reason why you chose not to return was not because you felt weary. But because you did not wish to see what came next, even though you could have prevented it. You know you could have. But you chose not to face the problem. You chose to run away. And how has that worked? Moreover, you chose to forswear the duty of every parent of every race in Arda," Estela said sternly. "Even if you could forsake your husband, you cannot un-wish or get rid of your own child. I myself had a son, destroyed and taken, possessed and warped by the Dark Lord, and did I abandon him?

"Even though I know his future would be of countless masses slain and tortured, I chose not to. I sent him to Valinor, only as a last resort. I never abandoned him. I was never willing to. Not for him or for my daughter. Sauron would have had to torture me and Morgoth turn me into one of his accursed minions before either of them or their foul servants pried my children from my arms. That was your duty. The love of a mother. And could you blame him for what happened next? His only parent- the only one he knew, slain? The last time he saw my grandmother just before he parted, he accused her of abandoning her own children. Could that not have reflected on what he felt? Towards you? Elves plan their parenthood. They do not have children in times of war and destruction and try to be there as much as possible as best as they could, for their offspring. You didn't. And yet you chose to destroy your son's life, and your grandsons, and the rest of your descendants' lives, because you chose to run away, forsaking all duties. You wanted the child, you should have been there. That was the necessary role of a mother or a father. But you weren't there. And we were all destroyed.

"My grandfather was Doomed. He died by the hands of Gothmog the Lord of Balrogs. My father threw himself into a pit of fire. My other uncles were slain, save for Telufinwë who died when he chose to stay in the ship at Losgar whereupon it was burnt, and Macalaurë, who still lingers, disappeared from all history, mourning his loss.

"And there are my children. One poisoned by the blood of the Dark Lord, warped and possessed and lost to me before I even had the chance to hold him. And now in the clutches of Sauron and Evil. The other… in danger every second of her life. No, despite what you told Finwë you cannot deny your responsibility for this now, especially now that another mother who fought for her children confronts you in this very moment."

Tears streamed down Míriel's face.

"A shieldmaiden once told a lady, after everything she had was lost and she sat there mourning, 'Only do and speak of what only you can do and say. That is what is done by your type of maids. And while men and women wait on you hand and foot, of course you are satisfied and of course you learn to do nothing by yourself.' You stayed. Others have paid- and your own flesh and blood, no less. And you must weave and look at those tapestries for all eternity- you cannot compensate for what has been lost. Nor can you deny your responsibility for all this." Estela's piercing gaze struck Míriel to the core. "But for all it matters, I forgive you. I have made peace with my past and now I wish to let go. Farewell, Míriel Þerindë. You may be my foremother, but this may well be the first and last time I may ever see you."

She left Míriel there, weeping hard, clutching fistfuls of grass. Estela walked away. She did not look back.

Estela breathed deeply the air of Lórien. Actually, she knew they all watched her.

But her time was not done.

"Estela." A voice resounded.

She knew that voice.

She turned. A tall red-haired elf with a face as fair as Míriel's stood before her. He was one of- if not the tallest elf she had ever seen. There were more besides.

His eyes were emerald, like her own.

They had been dark blue, with silver stars, same as Míriel's, before they turned.

Her father.

And beside him a maiden of such breath-taking, devastating beauty, with hair of the purest, woven silver, so brilliant and bright. It cascaded down her back like a waterfall, well past her knees.

Her eyes were violet like Vanimelda's.

No words can describe the tears, the embraces.

Estela's mother wept.

After a while she drew back. Her mother traced her fingers wonderingly at the feathers of her wings.

Her father, like Miriel, knelt to the ground. And she saw others do the same.

She recognized them.

Tyelcormo, called Celegorm the Fair, with his golden-blond hair, knelt, Carnistir, the Dark One, Curufin, father of Telperinquar and the twins- Pityafinwë and Telufinwë. They all knelt before her.

And there was one. Whom she could see with her new eyes and senses.

Not re-embodied like the others, but kneeling, nonetheless, bowing down in respect and to honour her, shaming himself, with his head bowed low.

Fëanáro.

But her family was not complete.

Carnistir spoke. "We thought," he whispered. "You would despise and reject us, when you saw us."

"What is done is done. If you wish to redeem yourselves the task is yet begun," Estela said. "There is much to do. And I have never hated you. Nor had I ever felt rage towards you."

They bowed their heads.

"It is done," she said gently, bidding them to rise. Tears in their eyes, like everyone else it would seem, they looked at her.

She looked at her father. She looked down. His hands. He had two, now. Like he did before the dark days.

"Atar," she said. Maitimo's eyes glistened. And he embraced her. "Forgive me," he whispered. "You were right. I could not sacrifice all to avenge the past, least of all your future." He broke down and wept. Estela's mother wept._ "Estela, Estela, Estela,"_ she whispered the name, tears in her eyes, as if she could never say it enough.

Her father had never wept. But there he was. Begging forgiveness after he had knelt before his only child.

"We all made that mistake," Curufinwë said hoarsely. _I above all_. Was the voice of her grandfather, Fëanáro.

"As I said, now is the time for redemption," Estela said firmly but gently. "And I have made peace with my past. Now is the time for the future."

And Estela had been told what to do.

She closed her eyes.

* * *

Estela searched. Her inner light, a Maia's, one searched. Her _fëa_ no longer needed her _hröa_ to remain among the living.

And so her spirit flew. And searched with her mind's eye.

A harp.

There was a hollowed harp.

And a rude cottage, a shack, amongst green pastures.

And inside snored two unscrupulous human peasants who had recently committed murder.

And inside that cottage, a little tiny figure huddled.

She was covered with soot- not because of her own doing, but because those two peasants had literally smeared her with soot and covered her elven ears with a hood of awful make.

She was near-starved and beaten. The rod still stood at the corner. And while the peasants snored, she lay on the wooden floor she had been forced to scrub.

_Vanimelda. _

The girl opened her eyes, they were violet, richer and brighter than gems, filled with the light of the Ainur, and she responded to her mother's call.

_Fin._

* * *

_**And that's the end of the first story.**_

_**What Vanimelda's doing there, it's explained in the sequel, the Hidden Princess. Which I'll put up later on. **__**Wow. Never thought I'd finish this! **_

_**Yes, we know what happened to Gil-Galad. But I don't think it will take long for the two of them to reunite. **_

_**As for Estela, she is a winged Maia. Tolkien did say that the Valar were mistaken by some humans to be gods, but they always insisted otherwise. But they were, according to Tolkien, the influence for many gods and goddesses. Including the ones in Norse mythology it seemed. And if Tolkien wanted to play it that way, then why not? Estela is now something of an angel, and a Valkyrie, who had wings like hers and chooses the bravest warriors to prepare for ****Ragnarök**_**_ \- So yes, Estela now chooses the worthy to prepare for Dagor Dagorath- her task. _**


End file.
